


Screening Notes

by pocketsfullofmice



Series: Screening Lavenders [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Emotional Trauma, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Frottage, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, PTSD, Porn Magazines, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, bisexual!steve harrington, canon-based physical assault, level 5 gay, maybe slight Jopper if you squint, post-Jonathan/Nancy, really it's the slowest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 11:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 76,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15460278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketsfullofmice/pseuds/pocketsfullofmice
Summary: If he were to describe it in words, Jonathan would cast himself as Audrey Hepburn singing Moon River on the fire escape, while Steve watches from up above.As the dust settles after his break-up with Nancy, Jonathan decides to commit his time to studying and focusing on his job at the Hawk. Having someone sit in with him had never been part of the plan.





	1. i. coming attractions

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion fic to my Kali/Nancy fic, [Lavender and Yellow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14557020), though it's by no means required reading. There are a few mentions of events that happen in that fic, particularly towards the end, but it's very much a standalone piece.
> 
> A big thank you to Robby for letting me harangue her about this and for reading everything that I flung in her direction. You are a majestic creature.

Jonathan had first started working at The Hawk at fourteen. Doug, the owner, had been a friend of his mother's for years, and had offered Jonathan a job one afternoon when he was sitting on the stoop out the front of Melvald's, waiting for Joyce to get off work. Jonathan, already well aware that money was tight in the Byers household, particularly after his father skipped town the year before, jumped at the chance. Joyce had worried about him being too young, and making him feel as though he had a responsibility at bringing extra money in. Jonathan didn't care; his family was always the first priority for him, and he wanted to help out however he could.

He was paid $3.41 an hour, which was a few cents above minimum wage. Outside of his shift, he could get in to see a movie for only a quarter and get a box of popcorn for free. He could invite a friend for the same price while he was working a shift, if he wanted to. For Jonathan, he'd have happily worked at the cinema for those benefits alone. For the first year, two days after a week after school and on Saturday mornings, he'd work at the cinema, taking inventory of the reels that had arrived that week and serving at the concession stand. On Saturday afternoons after his shift, he'd take Will to see whatever movie he wanted. He'd pay his twenty-five cents, and Doug would let him 'sneak Will in', which meant Will would wear an oversized apron, and was something he was always gleeful about. Neither Doug nor Jonathan acknowledged that this 'treat' was really to hide the fact that Joyce was working an extra afternoon shift at Melvald's and Jonathan had no way of getting home unless he wanted to walk.

As the years went by, Jonathan's duties changed. He hated customer service, and although he was always perfectly polite and cordial to customers, he never quite developed a knack for upselling. After a position became available, Jonathan wrote in a form letter requesting the position, and soon he found himself as the newest projectionist. It was the job he had longed for since he started at the cinema. It meant hiding in the small room, sitting behind the project as the reel clicked over, and being able to sit by himself for hours at a time. Doug often turned a blind eye to Will, who would come in after school sometimes and sit on the floor with a torch, doing his homework. The small pay rise ($3.95 an hour, which was greatly appreciated) didn't hurt, either.

Given there was very little else to do in a town like Hawkins, and most kids his age had to wait until they got a license and vehicle of their own so they could drive to the next town over, The Hawk was the epitome of cool things to do. Standing behind the concession stand in the red-and-white uniform had been hell until his transfer in junior year to the projection room. There were times that he'd occasionally hear them out in the theatre he was manning, their laughter and jokes that he'd never been privy to. He'd see them tossing popcorn and spilling drinks, but there was little he could do to stop them. For the most part, he didn't care, though he'd sometimes jot down names and pass them to Doug. A couple were banned, much to Jonathan's secret delight.

There was a diner two doors down from the cinema. The food was often bad, in the way greasy spoon-styled diners were, but cinema employees received a discount there, which The Hawk reciprocated in turn to the diner staff with cheap tickets. As a general rule, Jonathan tried to avoid eating there. He was perfectly capable of packing himself a sandwich for lunch, all in an effort to save some money. But when he was called in and asked to cover a shift at the last minute, he would scurry out the door and find himself sitting at the counter come lunchtime with a toasted sandwich that always tasted slightly burnt at the edges and cold in the middle.

It was after one of those unplanned lunches when Jonathan saw him for the first time. He was sure that this wasn't Steve's first trip to the cinema, in that late January afternoon. He was standing out the front of the cinema, squinting up the billboard that had the movies listed. He didn't notice Jonathan as he approached from behind, his hair falling across his eyes as he turned his wallet over in his hands. What struck Jonathan the most was that he was alone, a fact that didn't seem all that lost on Steve, either. There were a handful of their peers milling about, in pairs or groups, but Steve was on his own. He kept glancing over at the other groups, a little twitchy, as though he wanted to be seen but also didn't in equal parts. Jonathan didn't hear what movie he finally bought a ticket for, and by the time Steve had his ticket stub ripped, Jonathan had already holed himself back up in the projector room. It didn't occur to him until the film started that Steve had looked a little lonely.


	2. ii. 1345 - The Breakfast Club

It was the weekend after Valentine's Day that Jonathan finally realised that Steve was on his own. Not just temporarily, but seemingly permanently. For the third time, he saw him lurking around the cinema, leather wallet out, eyes darting between his watch and the billboard. Jonathan watched him, still holding the last of his toasted sandwich. There was a line trailing down the road, a gaggle of their classmates gossiping about the latest John Hughes movie. Jonathan had already seen it eight times, and as much as he had come to accept that maybe, _maybe_ , he thought Emilio Estevez was easy on the eyes, he was getting a little bit sick of it. He'd been meaning to ask Doug if he could switch to Cinema 3 or 4, which were showing other movies, but hadn't yet had a chance to.

_The Breakfast Club_ was sold out. It had been all morning. Chewing slowly, standing at the mouth of the alley where he and Steve had once brawled, he shoved the rest of the sandwich in his mouth. Crumpling up the paper bag, he checked his own watch - ten minutes to get in, another ten before the trailers were meant to start. Taking a step, he went to head in. Steve had turned and was sliding his sunglasses off the top of his head, back down to his nose, when his eyes fell on Jonathan. He saw Steve's head tilt, the way he looked behind him at the alley, and back towards Jonathan.

'Hey.'

Stopping several feet away, Jonathan continued to chew. For a brief moment, he wondered if Steve had heard that he and Nancy had broken up. It hadn't been big news, and as far as Jonathan knew, nobody had yet found out, but Hawkins was small and he knew how quickly news could spread. After a few strained days, they had begun to eat lunch again, albeit in silence. Neither he nor Nancy had a great deal many friends. 

No, Jonathan decided, when he saw Steve wrap his arms around himself. Steve very likely didn't know.

'It's sold out,' he said around the ham, cheese and bread, a hand covering his mouth.

'What?'

' _The Breakfast Club_. Sold out.'

'Oh.' There was a pause as Steve turned away, looking back at the line of teenagers. 'I, uh. I was thinking of seeing _Witness_ anyway. Han Solo and all that.'

Finally swallowing the remainder of his lunch, Jonathan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Steve still had his wallet out, and he was turning it over and over. In all the years Jonathan had known Steve (well, known of Steve, they never really got to know each other), it had been a common theme that he'd go over-the-top for Valentine's Day. A bouquet of flowers for his beau, the girl's locker done up in streamers and glittered hearts. It had been silence on the Harrington front that year. 

'Maybe I'll come back tomorrow- '

'I can sneak you in.'

Jonathan didn't mean to cut him off. He sure as hell didn't mean to say what he had. But Steve threw him a confused look, peering over the top of his sunglasses as he did, and eyeballed him. His eyes ran down Jonathan's shirt, taking in the red-and-white striped collar, the name badge that proclaimed him as _Jonathon_ , with half the second _A_ having fallen off and turning it into a slightly flat _O_. One of the other projectionists had stuck a bear sticker to the upper corner on his birthday the previous year.

'You'd need to pay a quarter, but I can get you some free snacks if you're up for stale popcorn and cold hot dogs.'

'I like stale popcorn,' Steve murmured. Then, with a frown, 'why?'

'Uh, well, we can't eat the fresh stuff when there's a line this long, but it can't remain out for more than four hours, so usually we box it and eat it- '

'No, I mean, why are you doing...' Steve shrugged. ' _This_? I thought you hated me.'

'I don't hate you. I think you're an ass, but I don't hate you. Besides, it's a good movie. This'll be my ninth time seeing it. Look, we should head down this way. If the mob see you coming through the front door with me, they'll all be trying to squeeze into the projector room.'

Jonathan couldn't adequately answer why he was taking pity on Steve, because that's what it was. Pity. Steve radiated extroversion. In moments of silence, he vibrated with movement. Jonathan couldn't recall ever seeing him still. His fingers would bounce on counters, his feet would tap on floors. He always had a laugh on his lips, a glow in his cheeks. The past few times Jonathan had seen him, though, he'd seemed smaller, withdrawn. The colour had been taken from him. Even the typical curl that landed in the middle of his brow had been combed back and hairsprayed neatly into place. It looked wrong.

Stabbing a thumb behind himself, Jonathan guided him down the alley. There was a moment when Steve visibly hesitated, his shoulders drawing together.

'I'm not gonna hit you this time. Not unless you have another jab about Will,' Jonathan drawled, rolling his eyes.

'No jabs,' Steve muttered. 

Still, he waited until Jonathan had neared the diner's dumpster before he pushed his sunglasses up his nose, zipped up his denim jacket and began to follow. Jonathan moved quickly, hearing Steve on his heels as they made their way down the alley and around to the back of the buildings to the private parking lot. On quiet days, he liked to sit out here on the hood of his car during his lunch breaks; if he shut his eyes, he could hear snippets of conversations from the street and the buildings either side. Today, though, he was shoving his key into the lock of the back door and holding it open for Steve Harrington, in his far too expensive jacket and RayBan sunglasses, like he was a character out of some blockbuster teen movie.

'Here.'

Looking over his shoulder, he saw Steve holding out a dollar bill, crisp and new. Jonathan couldn't help but wonder if he'd had it withdrawn from the bank for the express purpose of impressing someone. Taking it cautiously, as though it would bite, he arched an eyebrow at Steve.

'You know. For sneaking me in. The quarter? You can keep the change if you want.'

'Gee, thanks.' Jonathan rolled his eyes.

Steve looked like he wanted to make a wry remark of his own, but his lips visibly pursed together and he turned away. It appeared his desire to see the film outweighed his usual glib remarks. Shaking his head, he told Steve to stay where he was and that he'd be back shortly. After handing Doug the bill and explaining he had 'a guest', he grabbed Steve a box of popcorn, as well as two sodas that he paid for himself. The salty aftertaste of the sandwich was lingering on his tongue.

Steve was still there when Jonathan returned, looking out of place as he tried to lean casually up against the wall, one foot perched on it. The sunglasses had been hooked over the front of his shirt, laying against the buttons of his polo. Eyes brightening at the sight of popcorn and soda, Jonathan thrust them at him and began to head down the corridor to his assigned cinema.

'You're going to need to be quiet. I don't just mean in here, but in general. If people find out I can sneak them in the back here, I'll never hear the end of it.'

Although he half-expected Steve to make some jibe about how nobody would willingly hang out with him, the other boy just shook his head as he took a slurp through the straw. The ice inside it rattled as they walked into the small room. Closing the door behind Steve, Jonathan pulled out the chair Will usually sat on and went to work setting up the reels. Steve watched him, the box of stale popcorn between his knees. Licking the salt and butter off his lips, he shifted out of the way as Jonathan flitted about, getting everything ready. Occasionally a loud laugh or parts of a conversation would filter up from within the cinema.

The advertisements began and Jonathan sat down, a book to his right, the second soda, sans ice as he preferred it, to his left. There was just enough light that he could typically read or do his homework, particularly in movies like these where he knew the cigarette burns in the reels would be, when he had to prepare and change over the reels. This time, though, he could feel Steve watching him.

'What?'

Steve shook his head. 'Nothing. It's just interesting.'

'What is? Me having a job?'

Steve frowned. Sinking down in the chair, he took another mouthful of the buttery popcorn. The view of the screen wasn't nearly as good as it was in the cinema, with a panel of glass in the way. He didn't complain, though, not even as the tins clinked as Jonathan changed over the reels, the click of film through the projector pattering along like clockwork. And, just like clockwork, Steve laughed at each punchline, just as the audience did. Jonathan sat by the projector, completing the assigned chapter of his text for English, mouthing along much as Bender did to Vernon's 'cracking skulls' quip.

Occasionally, Jonathan would lift his head to check the reels, and he'd find himself looking over at Steve. He was hunched over the desk that was often used by Will to complete his homework during dull movies, the box of popcorn almost empty, the lid of the soda cup peeled off as he mixed the melting ice and remaining Coke with his straw. Steve appeared to be thoroughly enthralled with the movie, his chin resting on his fist, eyes narrowed in concentration. When he wasn't devouring the popcorn, he was chewing at the end of a fingernail or his thumb, almost mindless in the way he did it.

As Simple Minds began to play over the closing credits, Jonathan turned the dial to raise the house lights. Steve blinked, clearing his eyes, and straightened up slowly. He made it look so cool and effortless, his shoulders rolling back, head lolling on his shoulders. There was a slight pop from his back as he stood, and he stretched his arms above his head. There was a liquid movement, and Jonathan wondered briefly if Steve had ever taken dance lessons before he decided that no, he actually didn't care.

'That was awesome,' Steve breathed, turning to Jonathan with a smile.

'I've seen it nine times. Rubbish?' 

'What? Why? I thought it was good.'

Jonathan shook his head. 'No. _Your_ rubbish.'

He held out his hand for the popcorn and cup. He had to set up the reel for the next screening of the damn film.

'Oh.' 

Steve held the straw between his lips as he finished the soda, which had to be nothing more than melted ice by now. As it turned out, the cup was mostly empty, and Jonathan was treated to the awful slurping, sucking noise that was like nails down a chalkboard for him. He winced and his nose screwed up. Steve didn't appear to notice as he drained the cup of the last of its liquids, popped it into the box and handed it over.

'Well, it was my first time and I thought it was great,' he decided brightly, licking his thumb clean of the last of salt and butter. 'Thanks for letting me hide out in here.'

There was something so incredibly earnest about the way Steve said it. Jonathan waited for the punchline, the backhanded compliment at the end, but none came. All he was treated to was Steve tucking his shirt back in where it had come loose at the side, then him fussing with his jacket and straightening it back up. Pulling the sleeves down, he turned to Jonathan, ready to go.

'I'll walk you out,' he found himself saying, jerking his thumb back to the door.

It turned out Steve was the type of person to want to talk about movies after seeing them. Typically Jonathan was, too, but after having sat through that particular film for the eighth time and counting, he had lost most of his interest. Even so, Steve sighed wistfully about Molly Ringwald, and how he could _totally_ understand Andy, and Brian really wasn't all that bad, either, and wasn't the dialogue so _real_ and-

'That was fun. Thanks for letting me in.'

Jonathan dumped the rubbish in the trash can. A part of him felt bad for kicking him out so quickly. There was an energy to him, a vibration that had begun to return. But he was still on the clock, and this was Steve goddamn Harrington. Besides, he was already pulling on his sunglasses as he made his way to the back door. He didn't even need to wave him off as Steve pushed it open and lifted his hand in a wave that was slightly reminiscent of Bender without turning back.

'Take it easy, Byers,' he called as he stepped out into the sunlight, skipping down the steps as the door swung shut behind him.

At least he was thanked. That had been more than Jonathan had expected.


	3. iii. 1445 - Witness

Will had stopped by to drop Jonathan off his lunch. The apron strings had been loosened just the smallest amount, and he was permitted to ride his bike into the town square and back during the day, so long as he came into saw Joyce when he arrived and he called when he made it back home. It had taken a lot of begging and arm twisting from Will, and some carefully placed advice from Jonathan where he pointed out that Will would inevitably be alone once he went to college the following fall. Joyce hadn't liked to hear it, even if it were true, but she had begun to let Will a wider range of movement. It had made Jonathan relax a little, to know his brother wouldn't be under lock and key when he was away, and Will had seemed far happier for it.

Lunch that day was a bologna sandwich with a packet of salt and vinegar chips, Will's latest obsession. Jonathan didn't quite enjoy them with the same vigour, but he forced himself to nibble on a couple and grimaced through the taste. With a bottle of water between his feet, they sat halfway down the alley by the cinema on a pair of overturned milk crates. Will was raving about his high score at the arcade, almost bouncing clean out of his seat as he spoke. Gesturing wildly, he waved his hands in front of his face as he explained the mechanics of the game. There seemed to be a gun of some sort used in place of the usual joystick and buttons; Jonathan didn't quite understand, but he'd never been as enthused by games as Will. It was good to see him excited, though.

'It's so cool! I totally beat Mike, he couldn't get the hang of it. The sight's a little off, but I think it's meant to be,' he said, continuing to rave about the game. 

Will had always been the better shooter of the two. Shaking his head, a smile on his face, Jonathan finished off the sandwich, ruffling Will's hair, much to the boy's chagrin. Will tried to bat the hand away, but Jonathan wouldn't let up, causing the trademark-Byers poker straight bowl cut to stand in every direction. Within seconds it was falling out, just a shake of Will's head sending it flat again. When he looked up through his bangs, his eyes fell just past Jonathan and down to the mouth of the alley.

Following his gaze, Jonathan turned to see Steve standing there. A cigarette was hanging from his lips, a lighter raised up, halfway to his mouth. He had already spotted the two of them, and seemed stuck between surprised and utterly caught out. Lowering his hands, cigarette plucked from between his lips and held between his fingers, he looked over at the two of them and cleared his throat. Pushing the cigarette behind his ear, he shuffled on the spot and took a couple of steps back. Jonathan couldn't tell if Will had picked up something in his body language that he hadn't, but he was pushing onto his feet and grabbing the rubbish.

'I gotta head home before Mom freaks out 'cause I haven't called in time. You still gonna help me with my essay, right?'

'Yeah, sure. Help, not write!' he called as Will hopped on his bike and pedalled off, calling a short hello to Steve as he circled by and threw his rubbish in the dumpster.

Jonathan watched him go, and finally moved onto his feet. Steve kept looking down and away, like he wasn't quite sure what to do now. Rubbing the back of his ear, the cigarette flicking about, he took a breath and made half a step towards Jonathan before rocking back on his heels. Stuck between heading back into the cinema and seeing why Steve was lurking about, he smacked his lips. The noise seemed to make Steve start, as he was making a move as though he was ready to turn and leave himself. Without thinking, Jonathan cleared his throat and jabbed his thumb further down the alley.

'Do you want to catch another movie?'

The words came tumbling out of his mouth before he could pull them back. They weren't what either of them were expected, from the looks of it. Steve stared at him, a little stunned, and looked back over his shoulder at the mouth of the alley as though it held the answer. When nothing appeared, no mysterious friend Jonathan was actually speaking to, nor some gaping maw for either of them to throw themselves at, Steve turned back to Jonathan and scratched behind his ear again. The cigarette flicked again, before flying out. With an easy swoop of his arm, Steve caught it; Jonathan somehow resisted rolling his eyes at the gratuitous display of athletic prowess.

'You still playing _The Breakfast Club_?'

'God, no, thankfully I've been taken off it,' he said with a sigh of relief as he tucked the bottle of water under his arm. 'I've been put onto _Witness_ again.'

Steve's eyes lit up. His brows disappeared under the carefully styled bangs he'd taken to wearing, a gentle swoop of hair that curled over his brow. He turned the cigarette over in his hand; it occurred to Jonathan, a whisper of a voice in the back of his mind, that Steve actually seemed uneasy. It was a rather uncharacteristic trait on him, and one Jonathan had never really associated with him. It also suddenly dawned on him that Steve had mentioned _Witness_ the last time he'd invited him into the projection room.

'You wanted to see that a couple of weeks ago, huh?' 

A brief look of surprise crossed Steve's features as he began to follow Jonathan down the alleyway. They had started walking without either of them realising it. He stayed a few steps behind, a fact that had Jonathan turning his head, partly out of caution that had developed from a combination of living with his father as a child and rough bullying during middle and early high school. Steve didn't seem to notice; he was turning the cigarette over, as though he still had half a mind to light it.

'Yeah. I love Harrison Ford. I mean- I mean, he's one of my favourite actors. I think he's great. _Blade Runner_ is one of the best films I've ever seen. God, he was so fantastic in that. I think it's so much better than _Star Wars_ , but, y'know, Han Solo- shit, what an epic role?'

Jonathan wondered if it was too late to retract the invitation to let him into the projection room. The rambling monologue continued on behind him as Steve compared Han and Rick, and how _Blade Runner_ was a far more daring film to make but he could understand why _Star Wars_ had done so much better. As he went to open the backdoor, he turned to Steve, shushed him with a finger to his lips and stepped inside. With a quick apology (peppered with a definitely characteristic, 'oh, shit, yeah!'), Steve popped the cigarette back behind his ear and followed Jonathan into the back corridor of the cinema.

Leading him to the room where _Witness_ was screening that afternoon, he told Steve to stay, as though he were some oversized puppy. In a way he was, following obediently, a goofy, excitable glint in his eye as he peered around the bowels of the cinema where the public rarely tread. Digging into his back pocket, he rummaged about before pulling out two dimes and a nickel. Turning them over, Jonathan took the coins and went off to clock back in from his break and grab Steve a box of stale popcorn; he seemed to have genuinely enjoyed it last time.

As he collected the treats, nodding to the sophomore from school who worked the concession stand, he considered the soda fountain. Steve would probably get thirsty. Worrying his lower lip, passing the coins to Anneliese, he finally grabbed one of the cups and poured Steve a drink himself. Promising he'd pay for it after before Anneliese could argue, he headed back, juggling the two items as he went. He was just being a considerate host, he told himself. His mother would be proud of him.

There was a slight pause in Jonathan's step as Steve lit up when he saw him. Yeah, the oversized puppy analogy suited him. Maybe a Labrador or Golden Retriever. He was swinging back and forth on his heels, the delight in his eyes clear when he spotted the box of popcorn. Jonathan passed it to him, along the soda. He went about unlocking the projection room as Steve started thanking him, in a tone of voice that had Jonathan rankling.

'Yeah, yeah, don't make a big deal about it, okay? I just didn't want you picking your teeth during the movie.'

When the door was opened, he gestured for Steve to pull up a seat. The chair on offer here was far more comfortable than the stool Steve had perched himself on during _The Breakfast Club_. Jonathan had been using it to prop his feet up while the movies played and he did his homework. Setting up the first reel, he watched from the corner of his eye as Steve moved to the furthest corner of the small room, near the window. He could feel Steve's eyes on him, tracking him as he checked his watch, decided to wait another two minutes, and went to sit down behind the projector. As he looked over at Steve, though, he'd already turned away, as though fascinated by the poster on the wall that listed that weekend's movie times and cinemas.

'It must be awesome to work here,' Steve remarked, setting the soda down on a crate filled with unused canisters. 

Jonathan twitched at the sight of it, his upper lip curling as he was immediately filled with thoughts of the icy, sugary drink spilling into it. Steve must have seen his expression, as the cup was picked up and placed between his feet instead.

'It's not just watching movies all day and doing nothing else.'

'I know,' Steve chirped, seemingly unfazed by Jonathan's dry tone. 'But it's gotta be better than working a checkout at Melvald's like everyone else and slowly dying inside.'

'My mother works at Melvald's.'

The colour drained from Steve's face. Jonathan could actually see it, the natural olive hue fading as he held his breath. His eyes darted away as Jonathan began to start up the projector. It clicked over, the jingle advertising the concession stand beginning to play. It was tinny and sounded like Doug had had his four-year-old grandson play it on his toy xylophone. He most likely very well had.

'I- I didn't mean it like that.'

'So how did you mean it?'

He kept his tone cool, distant, which seemed to throw Steve. There was a faint noise from Steve as he tried to consider the question, as though his voice were stuck in his throat. With each passing second, Jonathan could feel the tension rise in the room. Although his pride had been prickled on behalf of his mother, he didn't think Steve had genuinely meant anything hurtful. Hell, he wasn't even sure if Steve knew what Joyce did as a living.

'I just... I just meant... you know, a lot of after school jobs suck ass. You get stuck at school, behind a desk, listening to people you can't stand, and then you go to work, behind another tiny counter, and get to listen to more people you can't stand. I didn't mean to imply that your mom was- that she's... I'm sure she's great and that she works hard.'

Hearing Steve grovel was satisfying. It was also didn't sit well with him. Turning his head just a fraction, he watched as Steve squeezed the box of popcorn, a pained look on his face, as though his thoughtless remark had literally wounded Jonathan. His fingers tapped over the box, his shoulders drawing up to his ears. Despite having a good four inches and ten pounds on him, Steve looked so small right then.

The upcoming films had started to play. _The Purple Rose of Cairo_ , _Certain Fury_ , as well as some new Drew Barrymore flick that was due out in April. 

'Look, it's fine. I know you didn't mean it. I'm not gonna kick you out, if you're worried about that- '

'I'm not,' Steve said quickly. Then, even faster, as though that, too, could be misinterpreted, 'I mean, I didn't come 'round just to score a free film. I was hoping to see a movie, sure, but I was going to pay, I just- '

'Steve.'

Looking up, Steve finally met Jonathan's eye.

'Just eat the damn popcorn, okay? I need to focus.'

Steve eyeballed him for several long seconds. Refusing to look over, he listened as Steve stood and moved the chair into a position better to watch the film. The legs ran over the carpeting, the sound of the popcorn rattling in the box as Steve finally took a mouthful. Jonathan had always thought the stale popcorn they could take for free to be somewhat disgusting, but just as he had said, Steve really did seem to enjoy it.

This was the fourth time Jonathan had screen Witness that week and possibly the twelfth time total. It had attracted an older crowd for the most part, and Jonathan was grateful for that. He could clean the equipment, stack the reels in the cupboards, catch up on some homework as he waited for the audio cues that he had learnt for the films he regularly worked on without needing to concentrate of the din that a teen audience tended to create. Today he had his math homework, a subject that he was bored by and could trust to keep him only partly distracted so he didn't forget to change the reels.

In the background, between the ambient Philadelphian noise and coarseness of John Book's voice, he found himself listening to the rustle of popcorn. Occasionally Steve would take a sip of the soda or lick his fingers clean. He sat close to the window that separated them from the audience, his knees touching the wall, the tip of a thumb in his mouth as he studied the screen. He had a slight squint, especially during the darker scenes, his brow furrowing together in a way that was most likely concentration. He'd smile and grin at parts, nodding slightly as though he'd figured out the twist well before it played out. It made Jonathan want to stop doing his homework and follow along, even though he had seen this movie end so many times before.

There was actually something comforting to listen to Steve. He could hear the rattle of popcorn in the box, the straw scraping along the cup as he chewed on the other end. Perhaps the noises reminded him of Will, who had begun to grow bored of the cramped room Jonathan was housed inside most Saturdays and several days a week after school. Hell, Jonathan couldn't blame him. The slurping, though, as he neared the end of the beverage was still as aggravating as the first time. 

As the credits began to roll, Steve spun around, a bright smile on his face. He gave Jonathan a look, as though they'd been watching the movie together, and not like one of them was watching and the other was alternating between working and completing trigonometry homework. Steve licked the remains of salt and butter off his fingers and stood up, stretching his arms over his head and rolling his neck on his shoulders.

'Oh, man, that was _awesome_. D'you think that'll win any awards?'

'Eh.' Jonathan just shrugged. It was okay, but not anything special in his opinion. He'd preferred _The Killing Fields_ , as macabre as it had been. 'I'm glad you enjoyed it.'

Steve was rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He pulled one aside to peer over at Jonathan, a sceptical noise coming from him. With a shrug, he dropped his hands, plopped the empty cup into the box of popcorn and headed over. Before he could see the mess of sums that he was working on, Jonathan quickly shut the book. Math had never been his strong suit, and he didn't need Steve goddamn Harrington finding out. The corners of his lips pinched tight, he went to put the text book down, but Steve had already spotted the cover.

'You got Tillotson?'

Jonathan briefly turned his eyes up at him and then made a noise of affirmation. He stood and began to prepare the first reel to play the advertisements and previews for the next screening on _Witness_. Steve took the book from him and turned it over. He didn't open it, though.

'She's a real hard-ass about showing your working.'

Twitching, Jonathan turned the reel over, waiting for the credits to finish. They were obligated to play them all the way through, even if the cinema was empty. Doug said there was always a chance that they could have folks from different production companies come in, just to make sure they played the right previews and showed the credits in their entirety. They hadn't been caught slacking off yet, and Doug wanted to keep it that way. Even so, Jonathan was tempted to cut them short, just to shoo Steve out. He preferred thinking that Steve was just using him for cheap movies and free popcorn and not... _this_. This weird attempt at camaraderie or whatever it was.

'I prefer English,' he finally muttered.

The corner of Steve's mouth quirked, as though he was going to smile but held back. Nodding, he ran his finger across the spine of the book and shrugged. He looked like he wanted to say something but was holding back. It caused Jonathan to set his jaw a little tighter, sucking on his lips as he drew back slightly. The book was set down beside him again on the desk.

'Thanks for the movie again. I should make it up to you. My job doesn't have as many exciting perks as yours, but it's got some.'

Now Jonathan really wished Steve would just leave. With the credits coming to a close, he let the reel run out before pulling it out and carefully putting it away before setting the next one in. It was good to keep busy, his hands threading the film through the projector in preparation for the next showing. It meant he didn't have to look at Steve for the next few minutes, his attention solely on the machinery in front of him. 

'Yeah? How?' he asked, expecting some remark about -

Well, he wasn't entirely sure what Steve did. He just seemed to lurk around the cinema and the diner, looking like a lost soul who didn't want to be seen. Jonathan had never considered Steve to be the loner type, and it really didn't suit him. Jonathan wondered if perhaps the reason he had taken to haunting the cinema wasn't so much as to find companionship but to find an activity to do that didn't require another party. Spending time in the projection room was a way to achieve both goals, given the two of them weren't friends in any definition of the word. Even acquaintance was stretching it.

'I tutor math. Mostly to kids, but I've helped a few freshmen. A couple of sophomores. I know Tillotson can be a real pain, so if you need help- '

'I've got to get the next screening ready,' Jonathan snapped quickly, his pride rankling somewhat. He didn't need Steve fucking Harrington helping him with his grades. That would be like him admitting that his mother was right in that maybe he should apply for places outside of NYU.

Steve's nose twitched. He kept watching as Jonathan laid out the reels, something he didn't typically do but felt necessary to avoid looking over again. Steve clicked his tongue, took a step, and Jonathan listened as he heard the door handle turn.

'Can I stop by next week?'

'Why?' Jonathan asked, a little too brusque.

'I dunno. This is... cool.'

That made him look over his shoulder. Nothing Jonathan done had ever been called cool before. He wasn't cool. He was weird, a freak, a loser, and he owned that. He wasn't cool because he worked at the cinema, although Anneliese most definitely was. He wasn't cool because he wore all black because it required less upkeep, though Samantha never received as much flak for it from what he could gather in the few times they'd chatted in class. And he sure as hell wasn't going to be cool because he happened to let Steve sit in the projection room for next to nothing. 

'Look- '

'I'm not trying to score free movies, man!' Steve said a little too loudly, holding a hand up. 'This is just... I dunno. It's... _cool_. I'll even pay full price. I'll bring snacks.'

'You're not allowed food back here. It attracts rats.'

'Okay, geez,' Steve sighed, giving what was probably meant to be a surreptitious glance at him. 'I'll get you lunch, then.'

'I like to bring my own lunch,' Jonathan said. Then, rolling his eyes and sighing heavily when it seemed like Steve wouldn't let up, ' _fine_. Can you come in the morning, though? There's less people and Doug won't give me shit for having a guest. Come to the midday screening. We'll grab a bite after.'

Steve's eyes brightened. With a nod, the jabbed his thumb towards the door and announced he could see himself out. Resisting the urge to walk him out, a habit his mother had raised him with, Jonathan sat back down on the stool and watched the door close. He could hear Steve whistling on the other side and he winced, hoping it wouldn't filter through the doors to any of the other projection rooms; he and the other projectionists had a code of silence when they were showing movies. Just this once he'd let it slide.


	4. iv. 1215 - The Purple Rose of Cairo

Jonathan rarely asked to work specific films. He didn't particularly see the point, especially when he was seeing the same film for the twelfth or so time in a row. By the end, he was bored witless by the end, which was something that had ruined many films he may have enjoyed at the start. If anything he asked to avoid being put on specific films. Horror films had never appealed to him, and once Will had returned from the Upside Down, he'd been turned off them entirely. Jonathan had lasted two shifts on third _Friday the 13th < _film before being asked to be put on something else. He still tried to avoid doing any horror films, and Doug would attempt to assign him to something else whenever possible. Nothing was ever said about it, but Jonathan was grateful for it.

Given he so rarely asked for a specific film, though, it felt about time that he finally requested one. There was no specific reason why. It absolutely had nothing to do with knowing he was going to be having a planned guest in the tiny room with him come that Saturday. Jonathan had shared the projection room with him twice before, and he was actually a little bit annoying. He had a tendency to lick his fingers after every bite of popcorn, and he liked to rattle the ice around in his cup before slurping up the last dregs of soda until the straw made that awful sucking noise. 

Really, Jonathan was just trying to find something pleasant to distract himself with, while Steve tried to make banal chatter about whatever it was that cool kids talked about. Like Han Solo and Rick Deckard were the best film characters of all time, and how a-ha and Madonna and whoever else were totally changing the face of music. Hell, there was no reason why Jonathan even needed to keep up the promise to have Steve come by on Saturday. Having a guest sit in the projection room was honestly just a privilege, and Jonathan had earned it by being a hard worker for several years. He could just tell Steve that Doug had changed the rules (and maybe he could even imply that it had been something Steve had done) and he was no longer allowed up the back. It felt good to simply think it, to know he held some power over the situation. _The Purple Rose of Cairo_ was a fantasy film and just because Mia Farrow and Carrie Fisher, who was in Steve's favourite trilogy, could maybe play sisters or cousins, it didn't mean Steve would be interested. He probably wouldn't understand a Woody Allen film, anyway.

But then Jonathan would see Steve lurking around the school halls. He seemed so much smaller than he had once been. The light that used to shine from him seemed dimmer. His hair was softer, less high, his clothes muted. The Ray Bans he often wore now hung from the front of his polos, instead of hiding his eyes like they once had. There was a slouch in his walk, his head tipped down. The cronies that had flanked his sides in the years past were nowhere to be seen. It was with that in mind that he allowed himself to take a detour towards Steve's car on Friday afternoon, carefully passing his eyes around to ensure that nobody would see him approach, and lifted his chin in a greeting.

'Still on for tomorrow?'

Steve seemed slightly startled at Jonathan's greeting. He looked over his shoulder, scanning the parking lot for anyone who may have heard, just as Jonathan had done. Rolling his eyes back, Jonathan allowed himself to indulge the fantasy of telling Steve that plans had changed and he was no longer allowed into the projection room. Closing his eyes, he let it turn over for a few breaths before looking back at Steve, who had decided it was safe to nod.

'If your thrilling social life will let you,' Jonathan permitted himself to add. He needed to get a jab in.

He didn't want to acknowledge the guilt that washed into him when Steve fixed him with a somewhat wounded look. The corners of Steve's lips turned downward, his brows furrowing together for half a second. It was only a flash of emotion, and one Jonathan would have missed if he weren't so used to reading similar looks on his mother's face, before she smoothed it out with a tight smile and made an attempt to liven the mood.

An apology was needed. Swallowing his pride, he tried to think of a way to apologise without actually needing to apologise.

'I just mean, if you have something with your friends- '

'Midday, right?' Steve asked, slamming the passenger side door that he'd thrown his bag into and heading back around the car to the driver's side.

'Uh- right,' Jonathan said, unable to tell if Steve was upset or not. 'The film starts at twelve-fifteen. D'you want another soda and popcorn?'

The corners of Steve's mouth were pinched again. Jonathan looked at him over the top of the car, his hands twisting around the strap of his bag. The parking lot was still relatively quiet, but students were still milling about. Darting his eyes around, he wondered if Steve was taking notice. He heard him make a noise, and when he finally went to look, he was swinging the door open.

'Yeah. Sure. That would be...' He faltered mid-sentence and drifted off.

_Nice_ , Jonathan wanted to say. It hung in the air between. He could almost taste it.

Taking that as his queue to leave, Jonathan smiled, if a little thin lipped himself. Stepping back from the car, he wondered if he ought to wave as Steve pulled out. Deciding that was probably crossing the line, he spun on his heel and headed to his own car, near where the local punks congregated at break times and after school. The thought still churned over in his head, even as he opened the door and climbed inside.

*

Typically, Jonathan wouldn't take his lunch break until closer to two or three. Having Steve come around for the midday film and a meal afterwards was going to mess with his appetite. He could have asked Steve to come later. Hell, he didn't have to ask him to come at all. There was something oddly thrilling about it, though, even when he murmured to Doug that he'd be having a guest that afternoon. It caused his boss to raise an eyebrow, a sceptical look as Jonathan scratched Steve's name into the guest book.

'You're friend's been stopping by a lot recently.'

Jonathan bristled at the word. Steve was a lot of things, but a _friend_ wasn't one of them. A bother, maybe. An off/on bully, maybe. A friend was the furthest thing from the truth.

'I owe him a big favour,' he said as way of an excuse. It was the truth. Between saving his life and then having Jonathan sleep with his girlfriend, he supposed he did owe him one.

Doug lifted his chin slightly, looking Jonathan over. Swallowing hard, Jonathan tried to avoid his eye. It was the sort of look Doug gave to the employees who weren't pulling their weight. Projectionists who would sit in the room and just goof off. Smoke, read blue magazines, nap, all the sorts of things Jonathan definitely didn't do. He'd developed a routine that meant he was always caught up with his work. He had the Byers work ethic. Well, the maternal work ethic, at any rate.

'If it's a problem, I can call him and tell him not to come,' he finally said, uneasy under the cool gaze. 

Guilt bit at him again, chasing his heels like a stubborn dog. He didn't particularly want to make the call to tell Steve he wasn't allowed to come. No matter how much he might have fantasised about the idea of telling Steve he couldn't come, he found himself not actually wanting to do it.

To his surprise, Doug shrugged and went back to checking the roster for the rest of the shift. 'Just make sure you don't get distracted, lad. It's good to see you spending time with kids your own age.'

Although it prickled a little to hear himself referred to as a _kid_ (he was eighteen in four months, he definitely wasn't a _kid_ ), he swallowed the annoyance and went to start up the first film of the day. He eyed Doug has he left, trying to take what he said in the spirit it was intended. He knew he was pushing, having Steve come three weeks in such a short space of time, but he hadn't been told he couldn't. Not yet, anyway.

When the first film finished (the earliest film of the day was always the quietest, and it had granted him time to prepare for the midday showing), there was a soft knock on the door. Opening it up, mentally calculating the amount of time he had before the next showing, he was mildly surprised to find Steve on the other side, a box of popcorn already in hand.

'Oh. I thought someone would have come to grab me when you were out the front.'

'The girl at the concession stand let me in,' he said, purposefully rattling the cup of soda and ice. 'What's today's movie?'

Eyeing the cup, Jonathan decided to hold back any critiques about Steve wandering through the back hallways of the cinema. Nodding curtly, he stepped back to let him in and gestured for him to sit on the chair he'd provided. 

Steve looked about, an eyebrow raised as he took in that afternoon's room. There was a backpack hanging over one shoulder, Jonathan noticed with mild interest. It hung heavily off his arm, and when Steve set it down, it made a heavy thump. Curiosity brewed in the corners of Jonathan's mind, but he didn't dare ask as he began to thread through the next showing of the Woody Allen film. Picking up the empty canister, he held it out for Steve to take. The name of the film was always printed on the side, along with the director and number of reels. Steve read it aloud, made a small noise of interest and handed it back.

'It’s good. The critics have liked it, anyway.’

'Have you seen it?’ Jonathan asked, intrigued.

Steve nodded shortly as he headed back. He'd played it a few times during the weekday sessions for a number of shifts now. He had put his bag on his lap at some stage while Jonathan was hooking up the film. He pulled out a box of Junior Mints, slid his thumb along one side, and poured the contents into the box of popcorn. Shaking it about, he picked out one of the chocolates, now coated in salt and butter, and popped it in his mouth. He didn't seem to take notice of Jonathan's mildly horrified expression- or if he did, he didn't particularly care.

'A few times, but I was mostly concentrating on the cues.'

There were still a few minutes before he needed to turn on the adverts. Steve had kicked his feet up on one of the boxes that contained flyers and pamphlets for upcoming films and other local community events, the chair positioned so he was side on to Jonathan. This room was one of the bigger ones, and was also used as a storage room when the cupboard behind the concession stand was full. Although Jonathan wanted to tell Steve to put his feet down, the words died in his mouth. There was something comfortably casual about his appearance. He wasn't giving off the uneasy air he had at school just the afternoon before.

Questions fluttered through Jonathan's mind as he busied himself. Steve was shaking the box of popcorn again, his head turned away as he peered out through the double-paned window. Eyeing the bag again, Jonathan wondered just what he'd been lugging around. The week before, he'd said something about tutoring kids, but Jonathan still wasn't entirely sure if he's been telling the truth, or had just been making a joke and Jonathan was the punchline. 

'You must be pretty excited to be finishing school soon, huh?' he finally went with. It sounded like the sort of thing people were meant to say to seniors.

Looking over his shoulder, Steve shrugged and turned back to his popcorn. 'Thrilled.'

It was dry; Jonathan wouldn't have been surprised to find Steve rolling his eyes, if he'd been able to see them. Pulling out a large handful of popcorn and chocolate, Steve shoved it in his mouth and adjusted his seat so he was turned away slightly from Jonathan.

'You definitely sound it.'

'Oh, yeah. It's going to be just fantastic.'

It didn't sit right. It didn't sound like Steve. The Steve Harrington that Jonathan knew was cocksure and arrogant. He was an asshole, but the teachers typically called him cheeky and the kind to give lip. The attitude wafting off Steve right then didn't read like that. Then again, Jonathan supposed he didn't know Steve all that well. He only knew the image he portrayed, and it was one Jonathan had never been particularly impressed by.

'Do you know what college you're going to?'

'Hey, I think that's Mr Donaghue. He's got a woman with him.'

Steve tapped the glass. Furrowing his brow, Jonathan stood up and crossed over to the window. Squinting in the dim cinema, he followed Steve's finger to where the Hawkins High English teacher was taking a seat next to someone Jonathan could only assume was his date. It always felt weird seeing teachers outside of class; it was like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs.

'I think that's Ms Marsden. She teaches middle school math. She started this year,' he clarified when Steve shot him a confused look.

'D'you think he wears the suspenders when they're boning?' Steve asked, sucking the end of a finger that was coated with salt.

'I wonder if they grade each other,' Jonathan mused aloud. 'B for effort, C for execution.'

'A high distinction for planning.'

'You weren't paying attention in class.'

The last part was said in unison, one of Mr Donaghue's preferred lines. A wide grin crossed Steve's face as he looked up at Jonathan, who had pressed his lips together in a wry smirk. A tense moment passed between them until they began to laugh, Jonathan self-consciously hiding his mouth behind a fist as Steve tipped his head back in raucous laughter. Bending over, Steve sniffed, snorting as he set the box of popcorn down on the table. 

Wiping away the tears that had sprung into the corners of his eyes, Jonathan picked out a few pieces from the box and ate them as he went to sit down behind the projector. One of the Junior Mints had slipped in, and although the texture of it wasn't pleasant, the salted chocolate wasn't all that awful. Sucking on it as he started up the projector, still snickering to himself, he leant back on the chair, rocking it as the adverts began to play.

'You're terrible,' he remarked

'Me? You joined in,' Steve shot back as he picked up the cup and took a sip through the straw.

Meeting Steve's eye, the corner of Jonathan's mouth twitched into a smile. This was the version of Steve he was more familiar with. Jovial, bright-eyed and teasing. A whole manner of behaviours that didn't come naturally to Jonathan. Shaking his head, he watched as Steve draped himself over the back of the chair, all liquid, feline grace that he swore must have been a requirement to be considered cool.

'Do you really tutor?' he asked, cocking his head to the side. 

'Yeah.' Steve kicked the no doubt overpriced backpack with one of his heels. The solid sound of books thumping together sounded as he did. 'Had a couple this morning.'

'Huh.' Swinging on the back legs of the chair, Jonathan turned it over. 'So does that mean when you're with a girl, you start grading her, too?'

The words took a moment to sink in. Wide-eyed, a shocked look crossing Steve's face, he grabbed one of the Junior Mints and lobbed it at Jonathan's head. Raising an arm to defend himself, it bounced off and landed in his lap. Popping it in his mouth, he turned back to the projector and went about making sure the first reel of Purple Rose was ready to play. Steve was rolling his eyes and shaking his head; Jonathan could see him watching him from the corner of his eye. 

The lights dimmed and the movie began to play. Although this was becoming one of his favourite films in the few times he's seen it, he wasn't entirely sure how Steve would respond. Jonathan loved the jazzy music and quick dialogue. The costuming was lush and told a story all on its own. While he had no interest in getting into film or directing in any way, he could appreciate the eye Woody Allen had for storytelling. All his films had such a style about them, from the camera angles used to the way they were coloured. _Purple Rose_ was one of the few films he could get lost in, though he had shown it often enough now that he knew when to get the reels set up and when to change them over.

As the film played, he took the opportunity to watch Steve. This was the first film they had watched together that hadn't explicitly been Steve's choice. While the antics of Cecilia, Tom and Gil played out on the screen, he found his eyes darting over to Steve, as he sat hunched over the table. He realised, with a slow dawning knowledge, he actually wanted him to enjoy it. It felt important, in a way he didn't quite understand. This wasn't like with Will, who Jonathan wanted to bond with over music and sci-fi books.

Maybe this was what it was to want to be friends with someone. Sure, Jonathan had had friends before. And sure, he didn't do the same sort of activities other kids his age did, but he did have a few friends. People he spoke to in class, classmates he usually did group projects with. He sometimes even spoke to the punk kids at school, when they sat near one another at lunch in the parking lot. And Nancy was his friend, too, after their quiet breakup. 

This felt different, though. This almost felt like he wanted Steve's approval, his acceptance. It sat weirdly in Jonathan's chest. He didn't want Steve to think he was cool or hip or whatever the terminology was. He just wanted Steve to enjoy the movie because he did. 

As Fred and Ginger began to dance across the screen, the lights in the cinema were raised. Checking the reels as the last one played out, he tried not to watch as Steve turned back around, his ankles crossed on his backpack. The last dregs of the ice and soda rattled in the cup, but for once he wasn't sucking it dry.

'What did you think?' Jonathan asked, feigning a cool air.

'It was... interesting.'

'You didn't like it?'

Steve made a noise of uncertainty and shook his head. He stood, dropped the cup into the empty box, and tossed both in the trash can that was near the door. 

'I didn't say that. I haven't seen a movie like it before, though.'

Unclear by what Steve meant or how he felt about the film, Jonathan just nodded. It didn't sound like he enjoyed the film, but he had to agree that it was interesting, stylistically. It wasn't like many other films that were showing. When the credits finished, he put it back in its canister and nodded towards the door.

'Lunch?'

Out of all of the things Jonathan could have predicted himself doing once upon a time, having lunch with Steve was probably up there with fighting interdimensional hellbeasts. After swapping the room over and checking out for lunch, he led Steve to the diner, taking him out the back and through the alley. Steve, he assumed, still likely wouldn't want to be seen with him.

'We can get our food to go if you'd like,' he said as they left the mouth of the alley.

'Oh. Do you normally do that?' When Jonathan shook his head, Steve shrugged. 'We can grab a booth or something.'

_Something_ turned out to be a table in the middle of the diner. It was unusually busy for early March, but it was the first sunny day in fall and people appeared to be taking advantage of it. Steve popped the collar on his wool-lined coat and hunched over as he nursed a glass of water while they waited for the lunch. Jonathan turned over the idea of reminding him they could take it to eat out the back of the cinema, but he bit his tongue. Steve had said they could sit in the diner; he had to accept that.

'I liked the movie. It was neat.'

'It's one of my favourites.'

Steve lifted his head. He fixed him with one of those weird, squinting looks that Jonathan had started to expect him from him. 'Oh.'

'Oh?'

A shrug. 'It's just... I can see why.'

'What does that mean?' Jonathan asked a little suspiciously as their food arrived.

The waitress set a grilled cheese sandwich in front of Jonathan and a full breakfast, complete with eggs and sausages, in front of Steve. While Jonathan smiled and nodded in thanks, Steve was more vocal, proclaiming his delight at the breakfast-for-lunch meal he was about to devour. When she left, Steve began piling his fork with food and finally answered Jonathan's question around a mouthful.

'I just mean, it's very you. The movie. It's... eccentric. It's nothing like I've seen before. Stop giving me that look, _what_?'

Jonathan shook his head. 'This whole thing is very weird.'

'What part?'

Jonathan gestured between them with half of his sandwich. He couldn't see anyone either of them particularly knew, and nobody appeared to be staring, but that didn't mean they weren't.

'You and me, having lunch. You... eating breakfast for lunch. Without bacon.'

'What? I don't like bacon. Well, my ma doesn't like bacon. She says pigs are too close to people. Hey, d'you want some of my eggs? They're a bit runny for me. The texture's all off.'

Shaking his head, mostly in disbelief, Jonathan took another bite of his sandwich. For several minutes, they sat in a silence that might have been described as companionable. Occasionally, Steve would lift his head, scan his eyes around the diner or look towards the door if it opened. He was ripping the crust of his toast and running it through the mess on his plate when he bowed his head and cleared his throat.

'So, uh. How's Nancy?'

Jonathan had been expecting that question, but it still took him by surprise. Swallowing thickly, he picked up the glass of orange juice that he always ordered (freshly squeezed with a dash of lemon that he'd never found served elsewhere) and smacked his lips. God, he sounded like Steve, when he was two-thirds into his box of popcorn.

'She's good. She's... she's good. You know how she is.'

'Are you two still...?'

Jonathan lifted his eyes. Their break-up had been quiet, private, much like their whole relationship had been. There were things he had wanted to keep between them and Nancy had understood.

He'd wanted it to work with Nancy. Jonathan genuinely liked her, from the whispered insults she would mutter to herself during class about their classmates, to the way she would smack his shoulder, point a finger in his face and tell him to stop looking down in his nose at people who listened to New Wave. She was pretty and smart and Jonathan knew in his bones that if he couldn't make it work with her, then he should probably give up. He _wanted_ it to work. For all his proselytising about not needing to like things because the majority did, he knew that there were certain things in life that it was easier to follow the majority in doing.

But he couldn't. Jonathan couldn't. So he'd held Nancy's hand as the snow fell outside his bedroom and tried not to cry as she smacked her small fists against his shoulder and asked _why_ and _how_ and _when_ and Jonathan found himself at a loss to answer any of it. All he could say was that he'd known he was gay for a long time, and he'd tried, he'd really tried. He didn't know if Nancy believed him, but it had to come out at some stage. _He_ had to come out at some stage.

'No. We... _I_ broke up with her last month.'

'Oh.'

Jonathan watched as Steve turned that over in his head. He raised the too-runny fried eggs up to his lips, took a slow bite, and chewed carefully. Looking over the restaurant, he grabbed another piece of toast and ran it through the yolk until the bread was soaked. Jonathan could almost taste the tension, but he had no idea how to break it. The _why_ was lingering. This was why he had wanted to avoid too many people finding out. He couldn't answer the _why_. 

'What- how- '

'I'm gay.'

The two words spilled from Jonathan before he meant to say them. He wasn't sure who was more shocked: himself or Steve. The words hung there, unable to be retracted, and Jonathan had no idea how loud he had said it, as somewhere in the back of the diner, near a booth, someone had dropped a plate and it had shattered just after he'd said it. Too afraid to look around, his eyes locked onto Steve's hand instead, that was clutching a fork, half-raised to his mouth, piled with eggs and the remainder of the fried tomato. 

Steve burped. The noise was enough to allow Jonathan to raise his eyes to take in his shocked expression, before turning his head. Breathing in sharply, his heart pounding in his chest, he set down the remainder of his sandwich. He felt sick. Darting his eyes around, he couldn't find anyone immediately looking at them. The queasiness remained, though, and he found himself wiping his mouth with a napkin and pushing away from the table. He had to go. He had to get out of there.

'I need to- I need to go,' he blurted out.

'Wait! Jesus, _Jon_ \- '

Before Steve hand a chance to finish, Jonathan was up and out of the chair. He would have left some cash behind, but he just had to leave the diner, get out, escape. Snatching his coat, he wiped his mouth, waving a hand at their waitress as he left. Behind him, he could hear Steve calling his name, right until he threw the door open and walked out into the brisk, fall air. Zipping his coat up, he pulled the collar up high as he hurried back to the alley. God, he just had to lock himself up in the projection room, finish his shift without being interrupted. The popularity of the film had died down; maybe he could catch up in his homework.

'Hey- hey, Jonathan!'

'Jesus- '

Halfway down the alley, he spun around to find Steve racing up to him. Bracing himself, he instinctively winced and raised an arm to protect himself.

'God, you owe me, like, five bucks, you know that?'

'What?'

'For lunch. And the tip.'

' _What_?'

Lowering his arm, he took a step back as Steve neared him. Shoulders hunched up, he set his jaw. At least they were alone this time. He didn't need to panic about one of Steve's jerk-ass friends joining in, nor Steve putting on a show in an attempt to win Nancy back. Well, he assumed not anyway. Just because he hadn't recognised anyone in the diner didn't mean Steve wasn't best pals with ten of them. This was just the sort of thing his mother had been worried about, too; him getting his ass jumped on account of something he couldn't help about himself.

'Can you just- just _go_?' he finally asked, holding up a hand. He didn't want to turn his back on Steve, he didn't want to risk it, but he wanted to get back in the cinema. 

Doug would notice if he didn't make it back within a reasonable amount of time after his break was meant to end. That was weirdly reassuring.

Steve stopped. He seemed stunned. Sucking in a breath, Jonathan took a few steps backwards, towards the end of the alley, and finally turned around. Managing half a dozen steps, he turned abruptly when he heard Steve behind him. There he was, several feet away, but clearly following him still.

'What do you want?'

'My bag.' Steve nodded to the wall to the cinema. 'I left it in your little room.'

Jonathan stared, at a loss for words. Holding Steve's gaze, he rolled his eyes and threw his hands up. Maybe he could convince Anneliese to give it back to him. She seemed to have liked him well enough to allow him in the back corridor without an escort. Shaking his head, he skulked back down, keeping his head down. He didn't quite like that Steve was still following him from behind, but when he turned his head, he found that a distance had still been kept between them.

'Wait here,' he said when they walked into the back parking lot.

Stalking inside, he made his way back to the projection room. While he half-expected Steve to follow him, he was grateful to find himself on his own. The backpack Steve had brought him was waiting where he'd left it, unzipped. Grabbing it, surprised by the heft, Jonathan peered inside. Just as Steve had said, there were a collection of math books inside, all aimed at younger students, ages eight to twelve. Poking through it, Jonathan found himself momentarily stunned. Shaking his head, he told himself that it was none of his business (and maybe it was just a really long con), before heading off to find Anneliese. She could return it to him, if she was that enamoured by him.

Of course she had to be on lunch, though. With a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes, he forced himself towards the back entrance. Pushing the door open, he stood at the tops of the steps and held it out for Steve to take. He was waiting by Jonathan's car, leaning on the hood like all those years ago. It felt like an awful reversal from then, though he felt equally as powerless. Steve had more leverage on him now, instead of just a few photos he shouldn't have taken.

Fuck, he should have just kept his mouth shut.

'Here. I didn't touch anything.'

'Jonathan- '

Steve scampered to get his bag and lurched towards it when Jonathan dropped it into his waiting arms. Hugging it to his chest, Steve took a step. Partly out of fear he was about to get intimately close to the pavement once again, but mostly because he didn't trust himself to say something else incredibly stupid, Jonathan pulled the door open again and stalked back inside. 

Shit, he needed to learn how to keep his mouth shut.


	5. v. 1345 - Fame

It was strange to be home on a Saturday. Jonathan wasn't entirely sure if he liked it. He found himself bent over his desk, trying to complete his math homework, and his eyes would drift over to his alarm clock. The glowing red digits would mock him, blinking that it was nine AM, ten AM, all the way until midday. He had agreed to help out one of the other projectionists, Morrison, who was a senior at the local pastoral school and had a test at the end of the week. In exchange for his Saturday shift, Jonathan covered for him on Monday and Tuesday afternoon. It hadn't been too bad, aside from the seven o'clock screening of _Lust in the Dust_ , when a group of classmates he was familiar with had tried to sneak in and he'd had to get an usher to kick them out.

Perhaps the strangest thing that had happened all week had been what _hadn't_ happened. Nobody had said boo to him. There had been no mention of what had come spilling out from him only the weekend before. All Monday, he had been watching over his shoulder, suspicious of each chuckle and whisper that was made around him. Sitting at his desk, ears raised to his shoulders and slumped in his seat, he kept waiting for the other shoe to fall. Steve had to have told someone. But nothing was uttered his way, no slurs or insults. His locker remained unscathed, his belongings staying on his desk when he excused himself partway through class to go to the bathroom. He'd simply wanted to see if they'd stay put, and they had.

Logic dictated that that meant that Steve hadn't told anyone, and yet Jonathan couldn't bring himself to accept that. This was Steve goddamn Harrington. If he ever sniffed out some gossip as juicy as this, Jonathan had a hard time believing it wouldn't become the most talked about subject for the next few days. But nothing was ever whispered about it, nothing ever thrown his way. Nothing like that happened at all. It was actually _boring_. Infuriatingly _boring_. He kept waiting for something to happen, and nothing did. The most unusual thing was to find he'd received a B- on his English test instead of his usual A. Not that it bothered Jonathan _too_ much. His head had been elsewhere, on account of Steve interrupting his typically quiet moments at work.

It made that Saturday all the most frustrating to deal with. On the weekend, he could at least trust he'd be partially busy. _Lust in the Dust_ was the new film for Jonathan to show, and he was still figuring out where the cue points were to change the reels. He had his damn math homework to work on (and he was still struggling to fathom Steve being a tutor to the local kids), and he'd promised Will to drop him off at the arcade that evening if he came home early for dinner. His mother was also out, filling in that afternoon for another coworker, who was nursing a flu ( _or so she had said_ , Joyce had remarked drily as she'd left for work that morning).

What he wasn't expecting was a knock on his door a lick before two. He'd been playing one of his numerous mixtapes, and he must have missed the first few knocks, as the one that caught his attention came loud and fast. Jerking in surprise, he gave a call that he was coming, his mind racing through the possibilities. Joyce was hurt, Will had disappeared again. Tripping over one of Will's sneakers, giving it a frustrated kick as he hurried to the door, he flung it open to find Steve on the other side.

A thousand thoughts of potentially terrible things began to race through his mind. Another demogorgon. Will was gone.

None of the possibilities his mind encountered in the dozen steps between his bedroom and the front door came close to the truth. What he came upon instead was Steve Harrington and a box of popcorn. On his shoulder was his trusty backpack, no doubt filled with study books intended for kids.

'What?'

Surprised by the rude greeting but unperturbed by it, Steve dug out a VHS from under his arm and held it up. 'You weren't at the cinema.'

'No, I swapped shifts,' Jonathan replied brusquely. Not that he had to tell Steve that - it was a little weird for him to feel as though Steve knew his work roster. 

'Yeah, the girl at the concession stand said. Anna?'

'Anneliese.'

'Yeah, her. So, anyway, I was thinking- ' Steve stopped to grab the bag of Reese's Pieces from the crook of his elbow with his teeth and dropped the packet into the popcorn he'd not only bought but had proceeded to drive over with from the cinema. 'You told me that movie last week was one of your favourites, so I thought I'd show you one of mine. Here.'

He passed the VHS over. It was _Fame_. A grainy image emblazoned the front cover, the crimson text faded and edges well worn as though it had been handled time and time again. Turning it over, unsure how to read into this situation, he raised his eyes back up at Steve. He was being studied expectantly, that funny little squint in Steve's gaze still there. The more he was around him, the more Jonathan was beginning to suspect he actually needed glasses. Running his nail over the grainy plastic, he turned it over again and read the blurb; he'd heard of the movie but had never watched it. It had seemed too kitsch for him.

When he looked back up, he found himself at a loss for words. Steve was still waiting for him, swinging back and forth on his feet.

'You came here to watch a movie with me?'

'Yeah.'

'Why?'

That seemed to throw Steve for a loop. His lips parted but no sound came out. Shrugging, he picked out a couple of pieces of popcorn and began to chew, sucking the salt off a fingertip. Shifting his weight again, he took his time swallowing.

'I dunno. It seemed like it had become a thing. I can go if you want.'

'A- a _thing_?' he repeated. He had a _thing_. With Steve Harrington. Damn, that sounded bad. 'I told you I was gay.'

'Okay.' He swallowed the mouthful. 'Does that mean you're not allowed to watch movies?'

Steve seemed so impassive about it all. Jonathan wasn't sure how to process it. If he didn't know any better, he'd assume Steve was actually trying to be his friend. That, too, didn't quite sit well with him, either. Eyeballing him, Jonathan shook his head, baffled.

'You didn't tell anyone.'

'Did you want me to?' Steve replied, his brows twitching slightly, as though he was about to frown. 'That would have been a shitty thing to do. Hey, can I come in or what? I didn't know if you had a VCR, so I brought mine. Well, technically it's my parents, but they don't know how to use it, so- '

'No. No, we have one. Um. Okay?'

Stepping back from the door, he watched, dazed, as Steve entered his home. There were no demogorgons this time, no beasts hunting them down. Just Steve, having decided he wanted to have some kind of weekly ritual with Jonathan. Nursing the box of popcorn, he looked about the living room (and it was likely far neater than he'd ever seen it before, Jonathan realised dimly), and sat down on the couch. Following behind, feeling as though he were taking part in a movie himself and he didn't have the script, he opened the case and popped the video into the VCR. Switching channels, he pressed _Play_ and watched as the movie sprang to life.

Turning, he wondered where he was meant to sit. Steve had taken a spot by the arm rest of the three-seater, which was typically Jonathan's seat, and he had the box of popcorn beside him. The chocolate had already been opened and he was pouring the contents into the box, shaking it intermittently to no doubt cover it all in salt and powdered butter flavouring. From the way it all appeared, Jonathan assumed he was meant to take a seat beside him. In the few movies he and Steve had watched together, though, in the sanctuary of the projection room, they had never actually sat next to one another. Uncertainly, he walked around the coffee table and settled down, leaving a foot of space between them. 

'Did you want a drink?'

'Got that covered.' 

Right on cue, Steve pulled out two cans of Coke. Tossing one to Jonathan, he stretched out, legs under the table, and cracked his can. Damn, he'd thought of everything. Passing it from hand to hand, he decided to try to relax on the other end of the couch. Grabbing the cushion, he set it between them. There; a sizeable gap, a cushion and box of popcorn between him. This was okay. It was also... peculiar. It was the only way to describe it. At any moment, he expected the rug to be pulled out from underneath him, for Steve to whip around and pull out a tape recorder and begin interrogating him on how it was to be gay. Instead, the TV just played trailers for videos that had been out for years, and Steve immediately went to munching on fistfuls of popcorn and chocolate, the way he did in the projection room.

'Doesn't it weird you out?' he finally asked, unable to help himself.

'What?'

'That- that I'm gay. And you're here, acting like nothing's wrong.'

'Is it wrong?'

Every question, every utterance that came out of Steve's mouth kept throwing Jonathan for a beat. He felt like he was watching one of those weird surreal films that occasionally came out and Doug did midnight screenings for. _Eraserhead_ , for one. Only this film was him and Steve, sitting on his couch, trying to have a discussion about his sexuality, and Steve didn't seem to care. Jonathan's eyes moved from his profile, to the TV, and back again.

'There's a gay guy in this movie,' Steve said, nodding his head to where the production company logo was playing.

'Is that why you brought it?'

Steve shook his head. 'No. I just like it. I mean, I guess Irene Cara's kinda hot, but I just like the movie. Oh, oh, it's starting, _shh_.'

Across the couch, Steve smacked him across the chest, though Jonathan hadn't been saying anything. He bounced a number of times before settling, taking a swig of his Coke as he did so. Deciding to take this decidedly surreal ride for all it was worth, he sat down to watch it. He'd seen the adverts on TV, but he'd never actually seen the movie. It had seemed... well, too cliché for him. His mother had thought he'd be all over it, on account of his own personal dream to go to New York, but _Fame_ was about the pretty people. The actors and dancers, the musicians who would have their names on magazines. Jonathan wanted to be in magazines, but as a photographer. He wanted to see his name printed underneath black-and-white photos of wrinkled old women, who told him their stories. He wanted to go to exotic locations and take photos of windswept steppes and deep jungles. He didn't want to go dance around New York and talk about what a great actor he'd be.

There was something intoxicating about the movie, though. He quickly found himself getting swept up in the music, the dancing. It was hard to not get excited, particularly when it quickly became apparent that Steve knew all the words. There was a faintly larger-than-life feel about the whole film, with a slight ridiculousness he couldn't quite escape, but it was intoxicating. The cafeteria scene had him shaking his head; he was sure Joyce would throttle him if he ever had such expensive equipment out in such an environment.

Partway through the scene, as the musicians erupted into playing, Steve jumped to his feet. All too late, Jonathan found his wrist grabbed and he was forced up to join him. _Dance_. Steve wanted to _dance_. The coffee table was pushed away far too quickly for him to realise and Steve had his hands on his arms and he was _singing_. He had a terrible voice, not that either of them seemed to notice, and Jonathan couldn't help but laugh as Steve lifted one of his arms up and swooped underneath it.

'C'mon, Jon.'

'I don't- I don't know the words!' he spluttered, covering his mouth with a hand as he laughed.

That didn't seem to bother Steve. He was singing in his face as he bounced around - ' _Macaroni and baloney, tuna fish, our favourite dish! Hot lunch, hey!_ ' - and Jonathan was unable to stop it. 

He wasn't even sure if he wanted to. For several, bewildering minutes, he was witness to a type of ecstatic joy he'd never seen before. He wondered if there was anything else in the popcorn and chocolate that he should have been aware of, before he realised that he, too, had been eating it and felt relatively okay (and the salt-covered chocolate wasn't all that bad, and the peanut was far more palatable than mint). As the song grew to its inevitable crescendo, Jonathan began to laugh at Steve's wild, enthusiastic dancing. His too-white sneakers kicked about, graceful in his own way, before he flopped back onto the couch, red-faced and hair sweaty, curling around his face.

'You're ridiculous.'

'Hey, I had to make up for _your_ lack of skills.'

'Oh- oh, you're going to blame _me_ for _that_ ,' Jonathan snorted, gesturing at the space that had been cleared for Steve's dancing.

Steve just grinned and shrugged as he grabbed another handful of popcorn. His joy was contagious. Jonathan began to laugh, his head back. A part of him felt like he shouldn't have been so delighted by it all, but he couldn't help but get swept up in Steve, in the film, in the music. It was absolutely ridiculous and absolutely incredible.

He didn't relate to Montgomery the way he was supposed he was meant to. If anything, he related more to Doris. Not quite with the stage mother presence (Joyce had always kept her distance in that regard, thankfully), but in finding a way to express himself through his photography. He joined in when Steve began to dance to the title song, and although he didn't throw himself into it as wholeheatedly as Steve did, he did bounce along and throw his arms up when Steve told him to. Steve's hips moved side to side, the back of his shirts riding up as he spun. If Jonathan stared, it was only because he was trying to guess Steve's movements so they didn't smack into one another. There was absolutely nothing underlying it.

As the movie ran to a close, the final song number having Jonathan tap his feet, he had to admit he enjoyed the experience. Sure, most of it had to be with the utter exuberance that Steve had held throughout it, but Jonathan found himself smiling and nodding, rolling his eyes as Steve gave him a friendly punch to the shoulder.

'See, I knew you'd like it.'

'It was... fun,' he admitted.

Steve had picked himself up and was collecting the trash. Popping the cans inside the box, he followed Jonathan's directions to the kitchen, where he deposited it in the trash can. He had a funny way of walking; he avoided a spot on the floor, stepping wide over certain areas, keeping his gaze from one corner in particular. As he tossed the rubbish in the trash, Jonathan busied himself by rewinding the tape and putting it back into the case.

'I'm back on my normal roster next week. If you're still keen,' he found himself saying, before he could stop it. Steve had a way of making him do that. He turned and handed the tape to him, along with his backpack. ' _Desperately Seeking Susan_ is playing.'

'That's got Madonna in it, huh?'

Jonathan knew that it was, but he shrugged and nodded, as though he wasn't certain. Turning his face to the ceiling, Steve sucked on his lower lip.

'I think I have a biology test on Monday next week. Can I let you know?'

The question came as a surprise. Then again, Jonathan hadn't full expected to ask. With a shrug, he nodded. It had really started to become a standing arrangement. With a smack to his shoulder, Steve winked, threw him a thumbs up, and took his leave. Watching him go, Jonathan shook his head. He waved as the Beemer pulled from his driveway; there was a slight honk of the horn, just as his mother's Pinto pulled in from the road. Remaining in the doorway, watching the taillights of the Beemer disappear down the road, he wave uncertainly at his mother.

'Who was that?' she asked as he headed up onto the porch, a bag of groceries tucked under her arm.

Taking the bag off her, poking through the lentils and beans that would no doubt make their stew for the night (and the next few nights, knowing his mother), he gave an uneasy shrug. When Joyce's eyes wouldn't leave him, a smile tugging at her lips and what he supposed was meant to be an encouraging look in her eyes, he groaned loudly and turned to head into the kitchen.

'It was just Steve. Harrington,' he added, as though he knew countless Steves.

'What did he want?'

'He just... wanted to share a movie with me. It's a thing.'

'A _thing_?'

'A _movie_ thing. He's just... he's a friend, sort of. Maybe. Whatever, Mom. C'mon, I'll help you get dinner on before Will comes home,' he said, hurrying to get off the subject.

Despite trying to drop the subject, he avoided his mother's eye, keeping his own gaze down as he pulled out the various cans and vegetables that she'd brought home from the store. He could still feel a pounding stare at the back of his head, though.

'What?' he asked when he turned, finding his mother's gaze upon him. 'Stop smiling at me like that, it's nothing.'

'It's just nice seeing you making friends, Jonathan.'

'Why does everyone in this house think I don't have any friends? I _have_ friends. Nancy's my friend.'

'You know what I mean, sweetie.'

Jonathan wasn't quite sure he did. But, to avoid an argument, he rolled his eyes, rolled up the paper bag, and tossed it under the sink with the rest. He was allowed to have a friend, even if he wasn't quite expecting it to be Steve.


	6. vi. intermission a

At some point Jonathan had decided against telling Nancy. He wasn't sure why. It just seemed like the sort of thing he should keep from her. People generally didn't make friends with their ex-girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend. At least he assumed it wasn't the type of thing that was done - he had no one else to compare it to. And although he couldn't find any reason for Nancy to justify any anger or frustration she may have felt in the situation, Jonathan decided it would be in his best interest to keep his mouth shut about the matter. So he did, as March rolled into April and the days gradually grew longer and the mornings warmer, until they could finally venture back outside to have lunch in the cool fall sun, with Hawkins High's local punk scene a few bays down from them.

Sitting on the hood of the car, Nancy perched beside him with her thick, woollen skirt neatly tucked underneath her, he paused when he pulled out the can of Coke he'd packed with his lunch that day. Memories of the weekend came flooding back. The loud music, the dancing that Steve had pulled him into. Will had brought several cans home with him after winning them at the arcade, and without thinking, Jonathan had taken one with his lunch. His hand hovered over the ring pull, a smile lingering on his lips as he cracked it. 

It had been fun. It surprised him as he sat there, watching the froth and bubbles rise to the top, that he'd actually enjoyed the impromptu visit. But it was more than that. Steve had taken the initiative to not only go to the cinema himself, but when he couldn't find him, he'd decided to hunt him down. If there were any lingering doubts Jonathan had about Steve using him just for cheap (if not outright free) tickets to the movies, that had been wiped when Steve had brought along a VHS for them to watch. Sipping the soda, remembering all too late that he didn't actually like the sugary drink, he screwed his nose up. It had only been the connection to Saturday afternoon that made him decide to take it.

'You should come to Dana's party on Saturday.'

'I have work. I'm doing the closing shift.'

Briefly it occurred to him that he may not have told Steve. It was a strange thing to realise, that he was considering another person into his work shifts. He hadn't done that with Nancy. Then again, with Nancy he'd never actually planned to have a relationship with her. They had just sort of fallen together, their lives already so entwined that it had felt like the next logical step. It had been a relief to go back to being friends.

And now there was Steve. Jonathan still wasn't sure if he was friends with Steve, nor was he certain if he wanted to be. Steve had always been this weird, mildly antagonistic presence in his life, and now he was looking to invite him in. Peeling the plastic wrap off his sandwich, he tilted his head to eyeball the punks, who were laughing about something that had happened in class. They had been his gauge in the days after confessing to Steve about his sexuality; if the punks were gossiping about him, then he knew the whole school had found out. But not a lick had been sent his way, and he'd accepted, even before Steve had come crawling back, that not a word had been uttered.

'God, Jonathan. You need to get out more,' Nancy drawled.

'What is it with everyone telling me to be more social right now?' Jonathan mused aloud, mostly to himself. 'You, my mom...'

'Having friends won't kill you.'

'I know. You're my friend, and you're yet to poison me.'

'Count your lucky stars.'

Although their romantic relationship had fizzled before it could really burn, Jonathan actually enjoyed being Nancy's friend. When she wasn't trying to fit in with the rest of the girls at school, she could be surprisingly sardonic, her humour dry and grim. They worked better as friends, and Jonathan didn't just feel that was the case because of his own sexuality. 

She pulled out a Ziploc bag of dried apricots, offered him one, and set the bag on the hood of the car. As he nibbled at it, not entirely sure if he appreciated the flavour or texture, he looked back over at the school. There, weaving between a gaggle of freshman girls, was Steve. Jonathan recognised the swooping wave of hair, the backpack that he tended to haul around that he now knew occasionally carried books intended for elementary and middle schoolers. 

'D'you know what Steve's intending to do after he graduates?' he asked suddenly.

Nancy looked at him, her brows knitting together. 'No. I don't know. He said once he'd probably work for his dad if he didn't get into college. Why?'

His gaze lingered on Steve a breath longer, before he shook his head and shrugged, hoping Nancy didn't grow curious as to what he had been looking at.

'Oh, I just... I was just wondering. We all sort of got pulled together and- well, we'll be seniors next year, and I guess I don't really know the guy. I was just...'

'You're so weird,' Nancy muttered, shaking her head and looking back down at her own barely-eaten sandwich.

Scratching behind his ear, Jonathan just shrugged and went back to stealing another dried apricot. Sure, he didn't like the first one, but he would still make Nancy regret offering him her food.

It was between classes, as he collected his books for his civics class, that Jonathan found the note in his locker. Mildly baffled (nobody ever left notes in his locker, not even the vaguely threatening, bullying kind; ever since middle school, he wasn't nearly popular or notorious enough to earn either kind), he unfolded it. The handwriting was unfamiliar, too blocky to be Nancy's.

_Have the bio test on Monday, need to_   
_study for it_   
_Gonna need to miss Sat._   
_catch you next week, same time?_   
_doesn't have to be Desp. Seeking Sue._   
_we could go fishing for tuna? fave dish!!_   
_~~Ste~~ _

The last few letters had been scratched out, as though the author had decided at the last minute that he shouldn't put his name to it. Jonathan's thumb ran over the paper, across the ink, his eyes reading the six-and-a-quarter lines of text, haphazardly written as though Steve had scrawled it without thinking before shoving it into Jonathan's locker.

He had no idea how to reply. He wasn't even entirely sure which locker was Steve's. All he knew was that it was somewhere in the east wing, and that Nancy would need to take the long way around school to meet up with him before lunch. But that had been _before_ , and Jonathan had never joined her. Turning it over, he folded it carefully along the lines that Steve had made before and slid it into his back pocket. Wrapping an arm around the strap of his messenger bag, he started down the hallway to his next class. It was a bizarre, unusual feeling, one that he couldn't name, that filled him as he passed his peers. He had a note in his back pocket from someone that he might, in the right circumstances, call a friend. 

Steve goddamn Harrington. His _friend_.

The thought tickled him as he turned the corner and found Steve heading in the opposite direction. For a moment, a wave of uncertainty washed over Jonathan. A chill ran down the back of his neck, and he was strangely aware of how his jacket was sitting, caught on the strap of his bag. It had pulled the neck of his t-shirt to it was twisted around his neck, but it was too late to adjust it; he wound up looking like he was scratching at a rash. Swallowing hard, he found his eyes meeting Steve's, with the tell-tale squint. Steve was raising his eyebrows, locks of meticulously coiffed tawny brown hair falling across his face. Christ, he had to spend hours getting ready in the morning; it was utterly ridiculous.

After a strangled moment, Jonathan finally nodded and threw him a thumbs up. Steve's eyes darted between his face, his hand, and back up again before he seemed to understand what was being communicated. His eyes lit up and he smiled, his face brightening in the few seconds it took for them to pass one another. 

If being friends with Steve was unusual under the best of circumstances, then it was even stranger to know that he actually felt a modicum of joy and delight to be the reason that Steve smiled. Jonathan struggled to understand the reasoning of that as he made his way into the final class of the day, chewing over that thought as he sank into his seat. He supposed, if he really considered it, that that was what friends were meant to do- bring happiness to one another. And if his heart had quickened just from the sight of that smile alone, then that was only because the concept of being friends with the likes of Steve was so unusual.


	7. vii. 1135 - Desperately Seeking Susan

As it turned out, it took another two weeks for Steve to stop back by the Hawk. A follow up note was left in Jonathan's locker a week after the first, apologising in advance, but he had another test coming up. Steve was nearing the end of his high school career, and exams were on the horizon. After a little hunting down, Jonathan was able to track down which locker was Steve's (his was near the art room, four lockers down from the easternmost corner of the school), and he slipped a note in between classes.

_A break will do you good._  
_I'll shout you a box of Junior Mints._  
_11:35, we can have lunch after._  
_J._

He had no idea if Steve would come. He even thought he was overstepping the boundary between where their trepid friendship and cool acquaintanceship lay. Sure, Steve had invited himself over a few weeks back when Jonathan hadn't been at his expected shift, but that was Steve. It wasn't in Jonathan's nature to make such grandiose gestures. The note itself seemed too large an action to take.

And yet the Saturday after he had deposited it in Steve's locker, his mind filled with the imagery of hundreds of other letters from admirers and friends, all hoping to catch up with Steve on the weekend, he found himself taking out a pile of posters for the concession staff to hang up in the foyer and spotted Steve waiting on the footpath outside through the window. He was smoking, standing by a trash can with one foot hooked around his ankle, his hip cocked out to the side as he eyeballed a throng of girls that Jonathan could just see at the edge of the window.

'So are you two, like, friends?'

Looking over the counter to where Anneliese was wiping down the surface, Jonathan took a moment to consider the question. There was a lull between screenings, only a handful of people milling about as they waited for the next screenings to start. The new Drew Barrymore film was out, along with what Jonathan assumed was a dance flick that had attracted a cohort of preteen girls. When Jonathan went to answer Anneliese, she had already pulled out a box of Steve's usual stale popcorn and was pouring a cup of Coke (sans ice, at Jonathan's request). 

'I guess? I dunno. Maybe.'

'Can you slip him my number?'

Jonathan squinted at Anneliese, in away he imagined Steve might. Cocking his head to the side, he left the posters, still rolled up and in their plastic shrink wrap, on the counter and made a faint noise as though he would consider it. Looking back out the window, catching Steve just as extinguished the cigarette on the lip of the bin. Steve threw him a peace sign and Jonathan waved, still unfamiliar with the type of communication he and Steve were utilising. 

'Just send him back to room five when he comes in, yeah?' Jonathan said as he scrawled Steve's name on the ledge and a dollar bill under the clip.

Anneliese rolled her eyes, drawled in the affirmative, and collected the posters. Turning on the ball of his foot, he headed to the back corridor that would lead him to the room he was squeezed into that afternoon.

He didn't have to wait long. Only a few minutes passed before there was a rhythmic knocking on the door he had come to associate with Steve (a steady _rat-a-tat-tat_ ). Digging through his satchel, Jonathan grabbed the Junior Mints he had promised and opened up. Instead of just the one box of popcorn, Steve had a second, which he foisted upon Jonathan with barely an argument, taking the box of Junior Mints in return. 

'Here. Conned a second out of whats-her-name. Anna.'

'Anneliese. And she wants your number, y'know.'

'Yeah, I bet she does.'

Grabbing the chair that Jonathan had set up by the window, he dragged it back a couple of feet so he was in line with the projector. He wasn't right next to Jonathan, but it was the closest they'd sat next to one another in these rooms. It was a little inevitable; cinema five was the smallest out of all of them. Watching him settle down, Jonathan grabbed him a milk carton that he sometimes used to set his feet up on and offered it to Steve. Taking it with a muffled thanks on account of the mouthful of popcorn, Steve kicked his feet up.

'Doesn't it bother you?'

'What?'

'That she's trying to flirt with you.'

Steve shrugged. 'I dunno. Maybe? She's not really my type. Ah, shit, she didn't give me any ice.'

Rolling his eyes, Jonathan couldn't help but smirk as he watched Steve peel back the lid of his cup and stir the straw about in search of the missing ice. Shaking his head, he decided to bite his tongue and picked out a few choice pieces of popcorn. Steve was in a chatty mood. It took Jonathan by surprise as he began threading up the first reel. From where he stood, Jonathan could study his profile, his hands making deft work of the can and its contents. 

'What do you mean, “not your type”?' he asked. He wasn't exactly curious about Steve's _type_ , but in all their weeks in this room, Steve hadn't elected to volunteer much information.

'Oh, you know. She's... not my type. Besides, isn't she a freshman?'

'Sophomore.'

'Whatever.'

Steve hadn't answered the question. Raising a brow, he grabbed the Junior Mints that had yet to be opened and slid his nail under the cardboard. Shaking out a couple, he decided to drop them into his box of popcorn and passed the rest to Steve.

'So who's your type, then? Nancy?'

That caused Steve to look back over his shoulder. Snorting loudly, a little crudely, he rolled his eyes.

'Surprisingly, _no_. I like redheads. Like... you know how a few years ago in the _Archie_ comics, they had that new character? Cheryl something? Like her. Or- or Josie, from the Pussycats.'

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, watching as Steve rocked back in his chair. The trailers were beginning to play and the lights in the theatre were dimming.

' _Archie_?' he repeated, incredulous. He bit his lower lip, an eyebrow raising in surprise. 

A small sniff of amusement came from him as Steve looked over his shoulder again. In the dim light of the projection room, he could see Steve's eyes on him, his brows furrowing together as he tried to study Jonathan's expression.

'Yeah. You read it?'

There was something almost sweet in the way Steve's eyes lit up when he looked back at Jonathan. It took him by surprise as he tried to imagine too-cool-for-school Steve Harrington, lounging on his bed, with his ankles crossed and Madonna blasting as he flicked through the latest adventures of Archie Andrews and Jughead Jones. It made Jonathan purse his lips together, sucking on one as he tried to disentangle the image in his head from the reality in front of him.

He likely could have handled it better if Steve hadn't spun around on the rickety seat, wide-eyed and positively _gleeful_. Under anyone else's gaze, Jonathan likely could have held it together. But at Steve's crooked smile, he couldn't help but snort and throw one of the pieces of popcorn at his head. 

' _No_. Oh my God, you read _Archie_?'

As adverts for the upcoming late-spring hits began to play, Jonathan began to laugh. He could hear Steve's futile arguments that it was actually enjoyable, and 'no, Jon, stop laughing now,' but it was too late. Head back, a wave of laughter hit Jonathan hard, one hand clutching his shirt. He knew he had to pay attention, that he had to focus as the feature film started to play, but it was a lost cause. Tears sprang into the corners of his eyes as Steve reached across the desk and smacked him in the shoulder. 

He knew he was being loud. The walls between the projection room and theatre were thinner than people expected. But all was lost. Wiping at his face, the wave of laughter crashing into him, Jonathan was swept away. He could feel Steve's loose fist smacking into his chest as he tried to get him to steady and stop. Sucking down air, a wave of giggles coming over him, he gave a small cry as the cue mark flashed on the screen. He barely had time to set the next reel going.

'It's not that funny!' Steve hissed.

There was a smile on his face, though, albeit a little bashful. Jonathan was struggling to contain himself as he wondered if the back row in the theatre had heard him cackling. Steve's lips twitched as Jonathan's did; he was shaking all over, acutely aware that he had at some point spilt most of popcorn. He managed to hold it back for a few breaths before he, too, began to join in with Jonathan, laughing to himself.

'It's a little funny.'

There was a wheeze in his lungs, his childhood asthma raring its ugly head. Coughing, Jonathan tried to focus back on what he was doing, though it was difficult. He hadn't laughed like that in a long time, especially not around someone who wasn't his immediate family. His eyes kept darting over to Steve, whose face had taken on a ruddy hue, particularly above his collar. As their laughter petered out, Jonathan occasionally glanced over, watching as Steve began to focus more on the movie; even so, his lips would occasionally twitch, and once he heard Steve mutter a friendly ' _asshole_ ,' in Jonathan's direction. As the trailers faded out and the movie began to start, Steve turned back to the window to pay attention. His shoulders still shook, and he sniffed and wiped at his face for a few moments as the opening scenes played.

It was halfway through the film (or thereabouts, if the number of reels were to be believed) that Jonathan realised at some point Steve had put on a pair of glasses. They were thin and wiry, and at first Jonathan wasn't even sure if he'd seen them correctly. It was only when the screen lit up that he saw the reflection playing out on the lenses. At first he wanted to laugh again, until he saw Steve scratch the side of his face, the frames twisting to accommodate his fingers that he realised how utterly self-conscious Steve had to be in them. For several scenes, Jonathan kept eyeing Steve's profile, the flickering lights on the reels occasionally catching the delicate, golden frames, before he'd grow distracted with his actual job and would need to return to the task at hand.

The glasses were off before the end credits had rolled. There was a slight click of the case as Steve put them away, and Jonathan watched as he ever so subtly leaned towards his backpack that had been resting by the milk crate and slid them away. Once more, Jonathan wondered if he should say something, anything, to point out that he'd seen him in glasses and he knew why he always seemed to be puzzling over a particularly difficult equation, before he decided against it. While he couldn't definitively say that this was the first time Steve had worn his glasses in the projection room, Jonathan felt it may have been.

As Steve turned, he snickered again, and threw Jonathan a wry smirk. Reaching over, he grabbed Jonathan's empty box of popcorn, tossed it inside his own, and stood. There was a feline grace about him as he moved and stretched; Jonathan couldn't help but watch, ever so slightly annoyed that he made it seem so effortlessly cool. 

'Did you still want to grab a bite to eat?'

Recalling that he had made the offer of lunch in his note, Jonathan looked up at Steve as he packed the last reel away. It was likely a little early for his break, but he doubted Doug would fuss too much. Clicking the reel into the can, he stacked it up and shrugged, nodding as he did so.

'Sure. You can tell me all about the latest adventures of Archie and Jughead in Rivervale.'

'Riverdale.'

'Whatever.'

As Jonathan packed away the reels in order for the next screening, Steve went about picking up the popcorn that had been tossed over the place. The act made him pause at the thoughtfulness. Jonathan had been raised in a household that, while not neat all the time, did place a certain amount of value on leaving another location as tidy as it was found; to see Steve reciprocate that was surprising.

'C'mon,' Steve chirped when he was done. 'I'm buying.'

*

Jonathan watched in wonder as Steve scarfed down the diner's big breakfast once again for lunch. Tilting his head to the side, he raised an eyebrow as a piece of toast was sliced into quarters and smeared across the plate. It was mildly off-putting. As though noticing he was being watched (though Jonathan doubted he actually cared), Steve took a sip of his heavily-sweetened coffee and rested up against the counter. They hadn't been able to get a table this time, and although Jonathan had been prepared to once again suggest they take their order to go and sit in the cinema's staff parking lot again, Steve couldn't be swayed.

Perhaps it was the looming threat of graduation that had made Steve suddenly so amenable to be seeing with someone who would never, in any definition in the popular vernacular, be described as _cool_. But as Jonathan sat there, eyeing Steve between bites of his salami-and-tomato grilled cheese sandwich, he realised it had been several months since he had seen Steve with a singular group of people recently. His usual posse was nowhere to be found. Sure, Steve stilled seemed popular, but it was in a vague way. He spoke to everyone, he was friendly to everyone. The word _bully_ had never been accurately applied to Steve, like _cool_ had never been applied to Jonathan. He was _cheeky_ and _rude_ but never a _bully_. Not unless he was flanked by a pair of flying monkeys.

It still felt extremely weird to be sitting at the same counter with Steve, though, sharing lunch. Well, lunch and breakfast-for-lunch. He watched as Steve wiped his mouth on a napkin, set his coffee mug down (despite his penchant for breakfast food, he didn't seem all that inclined to drink juice) and looked over at him. There was a streak of sauce still on his lower lip, and Jonathan had a sudden compulsion to wipe it off. Miraculously, he was able to keep his hands to himself.

'So who's your type?'

'Excuse me?'

The question made Jonathan pause. The sauce on Steve's mouth suddenly seemed far less appealing, and he was grateful when it was wiped off with the back of a hand that was then rubbed on a pair of jeans that probably cost as much as his day's pay.

'You can't ask me that,' Jonathan continued, shooting an uneasy look about. Nobody was looking but that didn't mean they hadn't heard.

'Sure I can. You asked me.'

'I mean- not _here_.'

Steve followed Jonathan's gaze around the diner. Then, leaning forward conspiratorially, he raised a brow. 

'I'm just asking if you're into blondes or brunettes, Jon. Nothing else.'

'God, you're such an ass.'

With a roll of his eyes and a shrug, Steve just shrugged. Jonathan almost wanted to describe it as coquettish. Although he knew he didn't have to answer, Jonathan found himself mulling over the answer, keeping his eyes down to avoid staring at Steve's ridiculous, smug look. Shaking his head, Jonathan just shrugged.

'I dunno. I've never thought about it.'

'What do you mean you don't know?'

'I mean, I know I'm....' Jonathan waved his hand, to which Steve nodded. 'But I- I don't know what I like. It's not like there's anyone else in Hawkins who... fuck, I shouldn't even been talking about this with you.'

'C'mon, you need to talk about this with someone.'

'No, I really don't.'

'C'mon- '

' _Steve_.'

'Just a couple of questions.'

Steve pouted. He wasn't even hiding it. His lower lip curved out as his brows knitted together. It was an absolutely appalling look, and it wasn't going to have any effect on Jonathan. Shaking his head, he turned back to his sandwich, half-wishing that he'd asked for a side of fries, simply so he wouldn't have to look at that ridiculous expression Steve was throwing at him. Pushing his tongue against the back of his teeth, he let out a huff.

'Oh my God, _fine_.'

'Luke or Han?'

'Uh- '

'No thinking, just the first response.'

Christ, Jonathan had never done this before. Scratching the back of his neck, he shrugged. 'Luke?'

Steve pulled a face. 'Seriously?'

'He seems less intimidating!'

While Steve seemed personally offended by Jonathan's choice, he rationalised it was simply because Han Solo - or, more accurately, Harrison Ford - was a hero for him. Rolling his eyes, Steve made a small scoffing sound.

'John Lennon or Paul McCartney.'

That one was too easy. Jonathan answered quickly, peeling off the crust on his toasted sandwich.

'Neither. The correct answer is George. He marched to the beat of his own drum and set about to do his own thing. I don't like his experimental phase, but I can appreciate My Sweet Lord as good as anything else. Now a better question would be David Bowie or...' Jonathan took a moment to consider, then snapped his fingers. 'Prince.'

Cocking his head to the side, Steve took a moment to eye him. This was an expression Jonathan couldn't actually read. It wasn't the ridiculously pleading look he'd been throwing only minutes ago, nor the shocked or mocked scandalised look from the projection room. 

'Why?'

'Because aesthetically, superficially, they're both very similar. They have a commercial appeal, but they're delivering a message that most people wouldn't normally consume- masculinity while embracing their feminine or androgynous side. It's not my style, but I can appreciate it. They mix a lot of unusual sounds and do it in their own way. They're selling masculinity without the detriment of over-aggressive machismo. That, and I really like their music.'

Steve was silent for a beat as he took it in. Feeling as though he'd been running his mouth (and Nancy was always telling him to lay off his intellectual bullshit), Jonathan took a swig of his juice and busied himself with tearing the rest of crust off his sandwich. Maybe he'd order the extra fries, just so he'd have an excuse to shut up.

'I wasn't asking for a college thesis, but okay, I can feel it. Who would you pick, then?' Steve asked once he'd had a chance to mull it over.

'Bowie. I'd rather go to the UK than Minnesota. And he's been in the business longer, so he's probably got more cash saved up.'

'I'd pick Prince. Little Red Corvette? _Ugh_. Sexiest song.' Without expecting him to, Jonathan suddenly found Steve scooting closer on the edge of his stool, their knees knocking as he leant in. 'I saw the video clip for it once when it first came out. I was, I dunno, fifteen? sixteen, maybe? and sick as anything, and it must have been at, like two AM. And you know how they only played Michael Jackson songs and shit at that time way back? Anyway, it came on, and oh, God, just- that suit, I tell ya. It was blue, but it had all these red lights coming down on it, and it made everything look purple, and it was- yeah. World changing experience. I tried doing my hair to look like his, but it came out ridiculous.'

'It's still ridiculous,' Jonathan remarked drily, unsure how else he could respond.

Steve had been speaking in fast, frenzied tones around a mouthful of toast. His plate was almost empty, though he still had several tomatoes on his plate. Without being asked, he piled them up on his fork and dumped them on Jonathan's plate. Grateful, Jonathan dipped the edge of his sandwich in it and took another bite. Steve's cheeks had become a little red, the way they tended to do when he was being caught out on something, but Jonathan didn't think too hard about it. 

'Judd Nelson or Anthony Michael Hall?'

Cocking his head to the side, Jonathan squinted. 'Anthony. But only in _The Breakfast Club_. I hated him in _Sixteen Candles_. Not that I was a fan of _The Breakfast Club_ , anyway. But Brian is less likely to break my heart than Bender.'

He took another bite of his sandwich. Without thinking about it, he continued on.

'I preferred Andy overall.'

The silence that fell down upon them was merely coincidence, Jonathan decided. Finishing his sandwich in several bites, the remains of the tomatoes scooped up on top, he kept his eyes turned away as Steve pulled out his wallet and asked for the bill. Jonathan had just found Andy's story line the most compelling in the film, that was all. The deadbeat dad trope hit too close to home, and he'd never been all that smart like Brian. Seeing the star school athlete under pressure from his parents had been a nice change.

They left the diner together; if the silence made Jonathan feel uncomfortable, then Steve was blind to it. He clapped his shoulder as he swung his backpack up and wished Jonathan well. Jonathan made a quiet jab about Steve enjoying his comics, which earned him a swift punch in the arm. While he intended to wish him all the best for his upcoming exams, too, Steve had already spun around and was walking away, whistling a tune that Jonathan thought may have been Prince's Little Red Corvette. It was only when he'd settled back into the projection for the next screening of _Desperately Seeking Susan_ that it had been a jazzier version of Bowie's Rebel Rebel.


	8. viii. snipe

Steve continued to stop by at the cinema. He'd bring Junior Mints, Reese's Pieces and Whoppers, mixing them in his popcorn as he rattled the ice in his cup. He always asked for extra now. Jonathan was beginning to suspect that might have been a deliberate action, as he'd often do it in films he was bored by ( _Private Resort_ , _Crimewave_ ) and wanted Jonathan's attention. Some afternoons they'd go to the diner afterwards and order their usual meals. Steve would talk about the kids he'd tutor, dodging questions about his father's business and college and plans once school and his exams finished. Prom came and went, and Steve waved off any questions about it. Jonathan learnt that Steve's great love was math, and that he'd started tutoring simply by helping Dustin with a few tests. That grew to the kids Dustin did speech therapy with. It had gotten larger, until he had a steady roster; it also seemed as though he was helping El, who was so far behind in her education that it wasn't clear if she'd be joining everyone in their freshman year.

Although the social echelons of school continued to keep them apart, Jonathan was actually beginning to enjoy those moments together. He was beginning to suspect he was toeing the line with Steve's weekly visits, and he wasn't entirely sure if Doug would approve. However, he'd worked there for a solid three years without a guest beyond his younger brother. He supposed he was allowed to make up for lost time, until Steve graduated and went to college, or whatever his plans entailed. He seemed far more inclined to talk about Jonathan's own distant plans than elaborate on his own.

He also, frustratingly, had begun to figure out just whose Jonathan's _type_ was. It was something he'd become insistent about finding more about. Whether it was the non-verbal cues he gave during certain films, when he'd pay attention more to the screen, or how his voice would hitch a little when Steve talked about Bowie or Robert Smith, Jonathan was unsure. But he'd stop and eyeball him when they were eating lunch and roll his eyes. It culminated one afternoon, in the first weekend of May, when Jonathan had been eyeing off a group of teenagers that had walked in. He didn't recognise any of them, which likely meant they went to the same pastoral school as Morrison. The sole waitress had guided them to a booth by the window that was behind Jonathan. He kept glancing over his shoulder, trying to be as surreptitious as possible, to look at them. There was one boy in particular; tall and tanned and honey-blonde hair that was swept back that his eyes kept falling on.

'Swap with me.'

Jonathan turned back to Steve. He could feel heat immediately hitting his cheeks.

'What- why?'

'Just fucking swap with me.'

Without being granted much of a choice, Jonathan found himself being pulled to his feet by Steve. A firm hand was put on his shoulder as Steve squeezed past him and pushed him rather unceremoniously down on the stool that had been previously occupied. The plate of eggs that Steve had been eating was pulled away and his half-eaten toasted sandwich was put in its place.

Staring at him, Jonathan tried to understand what happened. He watched as Steve took a pull from the glass of orange juice he'd been working his way through and then handed it over. Staring at him, Jonathan picked up his sandwich, mostly cold by now, and studied him. He'd returned to eating his eggs, a slice of toast in one hand that he used to mop up the hot sauce on the plate. Catching Jonathan looking at him, he swallowed and nodded his head backwards, in the direction of the guy he'd been watching.

'What- I don't- '

'I swapped with you. Now you can check him out without being so glaringly obvious about it,' he said, before taking a loud crunch of his toast.

'Is that what happened?' Jonathan asked, definitely feeling a few steps behind.

Steve levelled him with a steady look. Crumbs were stuck to his lips, and his tongue flashed out to lick them up before he swallowed. He lifted the remains of the toast and gestured behind Jonathan, nodding as he did so.

'I got a nice view myself. Oh, Jesus, don't _look_ \- '

It was too late. Jonathan turned his head, easily finding the girl he assumed Steve had spotted. Tall, curly red hair tied to the back of her head with an oversized scrunchie. Steve's type. Looking back towards Steve, Jonathan's eyes slid to the boy sitting in the booth by the window. His eyes went back to Steve, who winked at him in that insufferable way that he did. He took another swig from Jonathan's glass and screwed his nose up, before announcing he really hated orange juice.

'Then stop stealing it, I was the one who ordered it,' he muttered, eyeing the dregs.

'Oh, shut up and enjoy the view,' Steve shot back. 'And try to be subtle about it.'

The corner of Jonathan's mouth twitched, but he tried to hide the smirk. Steve's eyes were looking just past the left of him as he finished off his breakfast-for-lunch. Although he seemed to be watching whatever was occurring just behind him, Jonathan had the distinct feeling he was being studied out of the periphery of Steve's gaze. With that in mind, he went back to his own meal, mostly cold by now, and decided to follow Steve's instructions about being subtle.

*

The frost began to melt earlier as the days grew longer. Clouds continued to hang heavily in the sky as April stretched out and turned into the middle of May. With it came rain, a sudden downpour that resulted in the western roads, just outside of town, to get flooded. Jonathan and Will stood on their porch one Sunday morning and watched the water come crashing down the street, filling the divot on the opposite side of the asphalt with a muddy, rushing mess. As Will called Dustin for him to ride his bike over so they could make paper boats and send them floating down, Jonathan crouched on the road and took photos. Sometimes it was nice to just take them simply for the aesthetic look, especially when he caught Will and Dustin's backs, fuzzy in the distance.

Sweaters began to give way to long-sleeved shirts and finally t-shirts. The parking lot at school began to grow crowded once more as more students were coaxed out and Jonathan and Nancy soon found other social groups sitting nearby them as they perched on the hood of his car. He still sometimes saw Steve flittering around, moving from group to group each day. A part of Jonathan wanted to call Steve over, invite him to sit with them, but he managed to keep his lips shut. Their weekend friendship was a secret, a fact that strangely delighted him. 

Nancy had begun to cotton on that there was something he wasn't divulging. Her brows would furrow, her pale eyes would narrow, and she'd throw a frustrated moue in his direction. While she could be quite dry and quick to joke about others, Nancy still grew frustrated when Jonathan kept things from her. The secret friendship with Steve was just another item of the list, as well as all the facts he had begun to learn about him. The _Archie_ comics, the math tutoring, the admission Steve had let slip after lunch the last time they had hung out that he likely wasn't going to college and was going to stay in Hawkins and work for his father. All little things that Jonathan had begun to collect and add to his mental vault of Facts About Steve Harrington.

The last part had quietly shocked Jonathan. He still wasn't entirely aware what his father did, only that it seemed to involve commercial real estate. Once school was finished, Steve was expected to work for the company. He'd been expected to get a degree in business or civil planning (at least that was what had been inferred, on the few occasions Steve had spoken about it), but if that wasn't the case, then he was meant to be filing papers and pushing pens at the office. It hadn't taken long for Jonathan to pick up that those options were incredibly depressing for Steve, who would need to wear a collared shirt and tie and, worst of all, cut his hair. Despite the anguish and concern that had filled Steve's face for all of ten seconds, a part of Jonathan had taken the opportunity to relish that information, the admission that had been granted to him. It felt like knowledge that nobody else knew. He knew it had to be heartbreaking, and he felt for Steve, but Jonathan had never been the person to receive such intimate secrets before.

As Jonathan cracked open a can of Coke, Nancy turned to look at him. Jonathan didn't typically have a sweet tooth, and the soda was unusual. It was only the second time he'd had one over lunch that school year. The punks were blasting some music from their car, a British band that he vaguely recognised. The corners of Nancy's lips, painted pink with lipstick, were turned down as she fixed him with a steely gaze.

'Are you dating someone?'

Although the question took him by surprise, he had to admit he was glad she phrased it that way, and not, _are you seeing someone?_ or, even more direct, _who have you been watching movies with?_ Jonathan didn't think he'd be able to easily lie his way out of that one. The clear question Nancy had asked, though, meant he didn't have to dodge and weave his way around.

'No. Pretty sure I'm on my own here in Hawkins.'

While Nancy didn't appear all that certain about whether she believed him or not, she didn't immediately stop to argue. Jonathan had never been known to lie to her. Her expression twitched, just a fraction of a second, as she clearly tossed up the decision about whether to dispute it. Somehow, she decided it was safer to purse her lips and look back over at the punks instead. Besides, he and Steve were only friends, so it wasn't as though he wasn't hiding anything serious. It was simply nice to have something like this as a secret all to himself.


	9. ix. 1515 - Breakfast at Tiffany's

Jonathan didn't see Steve at all through the second half of May. Exams kept them separated, and even Jonathan took a week off work to ensure he was as focused as he possibly could be. Even during school hours, Jonathan rarely saw Steve, with the seniors only coming in for the exams that were scheduled. Strangely, between the tension of studying and completing exams and trying to not let his mother realise how wound up he was, Jonathan realised he was beginning to miss him. It was mildly revolting, and not something he wanted to linger on.

The last day of school was the last Friday in May and graduation occurred the first Tuesday in June. During the few days in between, when Jonathan was back at work, he didn't see hair nor hide of Steve. Although he knew logically it didn't make sense, he briefly wondered if perhaps he had been had, and that Steve really had just been using him for cheap tickets and bad popcorn for several months. Gradually, his paranoia began clicking into overdrive. Even so, he knew it didn't make any sense, particularly as Steve didn't seem the type to want for discounted tickets all that badly. Besides, there was a far better view to be had within the cinema, and that wasn't even considering the fact they had made a tradition for going out to lunch after.

The concern was swept away several days after Steve's graduation. Although he had requested extra shifts at the Hawk, Jonathan still had three days off during the week. Will, too, was at Melvald's twice a week working the register for four hours each day. Despite being a little too young to officially have a job, Joyce was a little concerned with him being home by himself for so long and Donald was happy to pay him in cash. What it meant was that for several hours a day, at least twice a week, Jonathan had the house to himself. As much as he loved his family and wanted the three of them home together at night, Jonathan still ultimately valued the opportunity to have some time to himself.

It also meant he was home (purely by chance, as he'd been thinking of going to the library and seeing if they had the new Margaret Atwood book) when Steve came knocking. All concern he had about Steve using him to see cheap movies in a cramped space with watered down soda disappeared. It was replaced with a strange, uneasy anticipation that only grew as Steve grinned at him and held up a couple of VHS cases. A backpack was slung over his shoulder with a box of pre-popped popcorn sticking out from the open zip.

'I was going to call ahead but I thought I'd risk it,' Steve admitted with a grin.

No argument was needed. With a smile, Jonathan stepped back, allowing Steve the space to come in. The videos were passed over, and Steve flicked through them with a curious eye. _Some Like It Hot_ and _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ were on offer. It certainly hadn't been the films that Jonathan had begun to expect from Steve, which he said as Steve unloaded a box of Cracker Jacks, as well as his standard packet of Junior Mints. Cans of soda were pulled out from the bottom, which he set on the table on top of copy of the TV guide. 

'I was going to get _Indiana Jones_ , but I thought you might appreciate these. The store didn't have anything by Woody Allen except _Annie Hall_ , and...' Steve pulled a face and shrugged a shoulder. 'I thought we both might enjoy one of these more.'

That confirmed Jonathan's long-held suspicion that Steve hadn't enjoyed _Purple Rose_ as much as he'd said he had (as minimally as that had been). Despite Jonathan's first thought initially being that Steve simply had a far more mainstream taste, he had to appreciate the fact that he'd looked for another Woody Allen film. He'd also brought a collection of films that was no doubt meant to appeal to Jonathan's taste.

'So. Marilyn or Audrey?' Jonathan asked.

Having finished getting the snacks ready, Steve had sat down on the couch nearest where Jonathan was standing. It was the same place he'd sat before, draped over the arm rest with an ankle resting upon his knee. 

'Neither. Katharine.'

The answer surprised Jonathan. Arching an eyebrow, he set _Some Like It Hot_ down on the coffee table and went to put _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ in the VCR. 

'I love _The Philadelphia Story_. My sister and I used to watch it all the time. It's become a summer tradition.'

'You have a sister?'

'Half. She's about ten years older. Lives up in Chicago. I'm going up there to stay with her over the summer.'

Steve often had a way of talking that made it sound like there was more he wanted to say but was holding back. This was one of those times. He would deflect and avoid, with the start of an idea or phrase coming to him, which he would immediately back away from. Jonathan was certain that Steve had never explicitly mentioned a sister, half or otherwise, though he had occasionally commented on having more family 'up north'. Where he often drawled and rolled his eyes when speaking of his parents, particularly his father, there was a fondness when he spoke about his unnamed half-sister.

It was also the first time he'd explicitly mentioned plans for what he intended to do after high school. Jonathan knew he wasn't going to college, so he would wind up working at his father's company, but it had been like getting blood from a stone about finding out anything else. Despite that, the knowledge that he knew more about Steve than Nancy (or, he assumed, anyone else) burned inside Jonathan and left a smile on his face.

Pressing _Play_ on the VCR, he returned to the couch and sat down on Steve's left. 

'She wants me to go to Ivy Tech down in Bloomington, at least for a year. To keep my options open.'

'Will you?'

Steve was quiet. There it was again, the offering of information that he oh-so-quickly pulled away. His gaze grew distant, the Cracker Jack box in his hands and thumb under the tab to open it. Jonathan wanted to encourage the idea, that Steve should be keeping his options open, but there was a weariness to his tone of voice.

'I... I don't know. I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't know what I _want_ to do. I'm... I'm not...'

'You like math. You're good at it.'

His thumb pulled the box open. Jonathan's gentle protest was ignored, as the plastic bag was ripped apart and the sickening, cloying smell of caramel popcorn filled the air. Noisily reaching in, quite deliberate, Steve took out a few pieces and began to chew.

The Paramount logo filled the screen as the Moon River theme began to play over the streets of New York. This film had been a good choice. It had been one of the first that Jonathan had seen as a child that made him ache to live in New York. He knew the streets were never quiet these days and that it advertised an unrealistic lifestyle, but it didn't make it any less beautiful. As much as he wanted to continue the conversation, his attention was brought to Audrey, as elegant and graceful and beautiful as could be. There were still times, when he saw films like this, that he wondered if gay wasn't the best label for him; he could appreciate the beauty of Audrey Hepburn, the refinement that she brought to the role. 

Beside him, Steve sighed. The box of popcorn was put down on the table and he settled in, their shoulders touching as he fell back into the soft seat and his feet, shoes off and socks still on, were popped up on the coffee table. 

'I'm an Audrey guy,' Jonathan admitted with a smile.

'Figures.'

It struck Jonathan, as the movie went on, just how quiet Steve was. He was usually so full of energy, which had returned with the sun as winter ended, buzzing around and commenting on whatever film was playing. The last time he was over, he'd pulled Jonathan up to dance. This time, though, he was utterly silent. The soda was sipped, the Junior Mints and popcorn nibbled on, but he seemed lost in the film.

As the minutes ticked by, he began to slip down the couch. His weight began to press against Jonathan's shoulder, warm and heavy and firm. It was surprising but not unwelcome. Staying still, he resisted the urge to look over. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he could see Steve's wistful face, his lips parted and expression soft as he watched the events of the film take place. From the way he watched the film, it was difficult to say whether Steve had ever actually seen it or not.

Before long, Steve slid down further. His head lay upon Jonathan's lap as his knees were drawn up and legs tucked on the couch. This was far more unexpected than Steve merely resting against him. Unsure what to do, Jonathan's eyes darted down to where Steve was tucking an arm under his head so he could still see the TV. His hair was falling over his face, locks of tawny brown getting in the way. Without thinking until it was too late, Jonathan lifted his hand and began to push the hair from Steve's face. It had been stiffened with hairspray, but it felt day-old, like his mother's when she'd been too busy to wash her hair after a day at work and had been out on a date the night before. 

Steve didn't ask him to stop. Jonathan thought he would have. He was so utterly particular with his hair. On rainy days, he'd see Steve running to his car with his jacket pulled up over his head. His shirt and bag would get soaked, but umbrellas, Jonathan supposed, were uncool, but his hair absolutely couldn't get wet. Yet here he was, allowing equally-uncool Jonathan run his fingers through his hair and mess up the care and style that had been put into it.

Moon River began to play on the screen. Audrey's gentle vocals and strumming guitar came through, somewhat tinny from the cheap speakers. Sighing deeply, Jonathan settled back again once more. Steve, too, seemed to have relaxed on his lap, his breathing having evened out. For a brief moment, he wondered if he had fallen asleep, until his feet rubbed together on the arm rest. No, not asleep, just relaxed. All the while, Jonathan's fingers kept moving, tucking locks of hair behind Steve's ear, pushing it back off his brow. There was a shift from Steve again, and Jonathan stopped his hand. He felt in that moment just as still as Paul's typewriter on the screen.

As Paul opened the window and the scene moved to Audrey sitting on her windowsill, Steve lifted his head. Looking down, Jonathan met his gaze. A part of him knew what was happening. He did. He wasn't dumb, despite his dating history. He'd seen enough movies, read enough books. But he felt unable to move, to respond, his mind spinning with possibilities as Steve pushed himself up, a hand coming to rest on Jonathan's knee. Time seemed to stand still, though he knew only seconds had passed. 

Steve's eyes were like the colour of honey. That was all Jonathan could think when Steve was that close, _too_ close. Honey and amber, with a fleck of green deep within. They were fixed on Jonathan, the pupils large and growing wider as he moved in. A firm hand was on his thigh for balance, and Steve's tawny hair was swept in a lazy wave over his head from Jonathan's ministrations. The side of his face that held a collection of freckles was flushed pink and Steve kept looking down at his mouth and back up again, and Jonathan knew, he _knew_ , he ought to be saying something because they were missing the best part, this song was the best part and Steve loved music, he did, and -

It didn't matter. Steve must have seen this film before, because he had timed it just right. He leant in just as the violins swelled and there was a crescendo in the orchestral track. And despite the argument waging in Jonathan's mind, he couldn't fight it. Steve's mouth, warm and firm, with a burn of stubble that had never once existed in any of the previous kisses Jonathan had shared, was on his. He tasted of caramel and chocolate and the cloying sweetness of Coke, and it was strange and weird and _wonderful_. 

Sighing against Steve's lips, Jonathan cupped the side of his face. All too late, he wondered if he ought to be waiting for permission, from a sign from Steve that it was okay, but nothing came that suggested he shouldn't. His other hand lifted to Steve's shoulder as he swayed, as though he was about to tip over. It couldn't be the most comfortable position, the way he was resting on his hip and straining to remain upright. 

The music slowed. Audrey said _hi_. Steve pulled away, lips pinker than before, his gaze a little hazy. He blinked a few times, no doubt to adjust his vision, and eased back. A flash of tongue peeked out as Steve licked his lips. Wordless, Jonathan watched as he sat up and leant towards his backpack on the ground. Reaching in, he dug about, seemingly oblivious to the hummingbird-fast pattering in Jonathan's chest. Studying Steve, Jonathan scratched idly at his jeans as his other hand dug around in his bag until he pulled out a small, black case. The movie continued on as Steve took out his pair of delicate glasses, slid them on, and lay back down on Jonathan's lap as though nothing had happened.

But it had happened. It had happened, and Jonathan couldn't concentrate on the film anymore. Not when he had Steve on his lips and tongue and breath, and his head firm and heavy on his lap. Frozen in place, he couldn't move, not until Steve groped behind and found Jonathan's hand. He guided it back to his head, a silent request for him to resume combing his fingers through his hair. That, thankfully, was something Jonathan could do.

They went to Tiffany's. Holly was arrested. Cat was lost, Cat was found. There was a kiss, but only onscreen.

At some point, Steve stood up. The credits were rolling and Jonathan's legs were numb. He watched, still and quiet, as the snacks were packed away (though Jonathan's unopened can of soda remained, as did the half-eaten box of Junior Mints). Forcing himself up, Jonathan rewound the video and ejected it. 

'I'm leaving for Boston on Friday with my old man,' Steve said softly as he took the tape. 'He wants to take me on a business trip. I'm then flying straight to Chicago by myself.'

'Oh.'

It was Wednesday. 

'I'll write you. If you want,' Steve added hastily.

He used to write Nancy letters. That piece of information hit Jonathan quietly, sneaking up from behind. He'd seen them, once or twice, packed away at the back of Nancy's desk drawer. She'd been in the bathroom one time and had called to him for a sanitary pad and he'd gone looking and Jonathan didn't know why he was remembering that _now_ , not when Steve was looking at his mouth again, and he had to say something, something, as he handed the video over.

'You don't belong in Hawkins, Steve.'

Not that. 

Or maybe that. Because Steve didn't, he couldn't. There was a vivaciousness to him, a burning, sunlight-filled energy that expelled from him. Every day that he remained in Hawkins was stifling him. He belonged in New York far more than Jonathan did. Or Chicago or Boston or the streets of LA. Anywhere but here.

The corner of Steve's mouth twitched up, though it seemed sad. Taking a deep breath in through his nose, Steve nodded, clapped Jonathan on the shoulder, and pulled his backpack up onto his shoulder. Jonathan followed him to the front door. The sun was still up, though it was setting and streaks of pink and purple filled the early summer sky. Steve crossed the threshold and onto the patio, where he raised two fingers into a peace sign.

'Take it easy, Jonathan.'

He didn't look back as he got into the car or as he reversed onto the street. The only sign he gave was a quick honk of his car horn as he drove off. Jonathan's lips still tasted of him.


	10. x - delay bracket

It took Jonathan all of three days to tell his mother what happened. He didn't go into details. The how, the when, the who were all kept close to his chest. But in the days following the kiss, as he went to work and sat around in the quiet room, he kept playing it over and over in his head. The heavy weight of Steve's head on his lap, how softly he'd moved to sit up and face him, the freckles on his cheeks and nose. Kissing Steve had been so different from kissing Nancy, or Sarah Mickle, a girl from the yearbook committee that he'd kissed once in his sophomore year, or Stephanie Hill who was the first girl he'd ever kissed, way back in eighth grade, which had also coincidentally been the first time that he'd ever suspected that maybe he might not like girls as much as he was meant to.

He'd never been able to keep much from his mother, though. After he'd broken up with Nancy, and his admission of, 'I think I might be,' turned into 'I'm definitely,' Joyce had been the second person to find out. She had pried, as gently as ever, about the circumstances of their break up and the words had come spilling out of him. There had been no hesitation like there'd been with Nancy. By the time Joyce asked, the day after Valentine's Day, Jonathan knew for certain. And, being the type of mother she was, she had hugged him, kissed the tip of his nose and told him how brave he was and how much she loved him. Will, strangely, barely reacted at all when Jonathan told him (seeing as they'd never been able to keep anything from one another, and Jonathan didn't want to start keeping secrets) before asking if that was why Jonathan had drunk the last of the orange juice.

With that in mind, it was almost impossible for Jonathan to keep this new secret about having been kissed from Joyce. Telling her while wiping up the dishes after dinner hadn't really been his plan, but the words spilled forth from his lips. He could see her pause, just out of the corner of his eye as he studied the crockery he was drying. It was a brief, hesitating movement, before she cleared her throat and passed him the next dish.

She wanted to know who and when and where and all the other questions Jonathan guessed parents were meant to ask. Jonathan dodged and weaved where he could, turning redder and redder in the face. He didn't want to announce that it was Steve Harrington three days ago in their very living room. He only wanted to tell her that it was a boy and it was recent and that it had been nice. It felt an awful lot like his first kiss, only that it was with Steve Harrington and it turned out that stubble burn actually really was a thing.

Although she seemed annoyed that he wouldn't reveal anything, as Jonathan was being more than cagey with the details, she didn't press. Instead, she fixed him with a concerned stare (the same one she would throw Will when he wanted to spend the day riding his bike with his friends and not checking in with her), and finally gave him a hug that felt a lot like the one he'd been given when he came out. The next question Joyce asked was whether Jonathan now had a boyfriend, which sent him throwing the tea towel down on the sink and racing out with his hands in the air, declaring time out.

*

_Hi Jonathan!_

_Told you I'd write._

_Chicago is great. They have a gallery dedicated entirely to photographers here. It's pretty neat, but I haven't seen any stalker shots, so I don't know if you'd be able to get your stuff shown. But I hope you like the postcards – do you know any of them?_

_My sister is really good. She and her husband are expecting a baby. Well, she's expecting a baby... he's not pregnant (I think). She said I can name the kid, so long as it's nothing weird. She says Zebulon and Hepzibah aren't good names. Those are better than what Dustin and Will call their characters in Dungeons and Dragons, though, right? Yggdrasil?? Ghaunadaur???_

_Chicago is so much cooler than Hawkins. I have no idea why my old man decided to move down there._

_Anyway, take it easy, Jonathan._

_Steve._

*

Jonathan managed to pick up an extra half-day shift at the Hawk. The extra money began to finally have an effect within the household. Although the Byers were a distinctly thrifty lot, no matter the cash flow, they began to loosen the purse strings, just for a taste. Jonathan bought himself a pair of new leather boots with distinctive yellow stitching for his birthday. They were expensive, but he told himself they were an investment, and something he'd be able to wear for several years. He couldn't help but wonder as he laced them up at home and studied them what Steve would think and if they were at all popular in Chicago.

Summer stretched out, the heat dry and pounding, utterly inescapable. As the back of his shirt began to stick to him, the small of his back drenched in sweat, Jonathan could only wonder what the summer was like up in Chicago. He'd heard it was far more humid up there, on account of the lake effect. A part of him envied Steve, though, for not only getting out of Hawkins, albeit temporarily, but being so much closer to a body of water. All Jonathan had on offer was the local pool that made him think of tinea, as well the rattly air conditioning in the cinema. Each night he slept with the window open and a fan squeaking from the corner. It didn't really keep the room cool, but the air would circulate.

On Tuesdays he would hang out with Nancy. Boredom ate at her faster than it did him. She had picked up work at the local newspaper, writing articles about the bowls team at the retirement home coming first in their division and about the baby-sitting services of a bunch of middle school girls. The second one sounded like a book series and Jonathan drawled as such. At times, Jonathan wondered if he ought to invite her to the cinema, the way he did with Steve. There were several good movies coming up, including a bunch that he knew would be up Steve's alley - _St Elmo's Fire_ , _Back to the Future_ and _Mad Max_ , just to name a few. But it felt wrong, like it was breaking something sacred.

Even Doug had asked where 'that cheeky boy' had gone. The remark had Jonathan turning a little red (which, thankfully, he could just blame on the heat), as he had begun to convince himself that his boss hadn't actually picked up on how often Steve had been coming around. Babbling that Steve was visiting family, he scampered to get to the next screening, all the while ignoring just how quiet the room was now. It was just him and the ticking of the reels as he caught up on his summer homework.

*

_Hey, Jonathan,_

_Paulette took me to her ultrasound today. It was so cool! I didn't even actually know it was really a thing. The nurse said she's 17 weeks along. I suggested Luke if it's a boy and Leia if it's a girl... I think she likes those names better than my first suggestions, but she still isn't sold on Leia. What do you think of Carrie? Or is that too Stephen King?_

_Paulette and her husband, Nate, are going up to Milwaukee for 4th of July. I'm meant to go with them... obviously. They don't want me staying in the house by myself. Two hours in the car with them! I love my sister, but I might need to cannonball out of it and into oncoming traffic._

_I asked her if we could go to the movies while I'm staying with her, but she said that was ridiculous. Apparently you're not meant to see movies while on vacation._

_At least I don't have to do homework over the summer any more. Sucks to be you! Got any math you need help with?_

_Take it easy,  
Steve_

*

The heat began to grow unbearable. As the days grew hotter, Jonathan began to take Will to the library where the air conditioning ran all day and their shirts could remain dry from sweat. He prowled the shelves, shaking the neck of his shirt as he attempted to create a slight breeze. Will devoured various comics and art books, tracing various characters before redrawing them in his own style.

During the first few visits to the library, Jonathan grabbed _The Shining_ and _Firestarter_. Then, later, _The Jungle_ and _The Westing Game_. He even picked up the few copies of _Archie_ the library kept in stock. Will moved from art books to ancient mythology while Jonathan spent the first few weeks flicking through books while curled up on the oversized chair. Chewing on a thumbnail, Jonathan devoured each book, taking note of names of interest. He ignored how he kept returning to the letter _C_ in the fiction portion of the library. When he did, he picked up books by Albert Camus and Orson Scott Card and nothing in between.

As the summer went on, the days growing longer the fireworks from the beginning of July fading from memory, along with memories of grilled meat in the Wheeler's backyard and the feeling of sand between his toes as he went down to the lake with Nancy and the boys, he began to peruse the rest of the library. He read about famous photographers from Chicago while Will experimented with pointillism. He read about different photography movements over the years, different airbrushing techniques. 

Days passed. He stopped by the library after work to return books they had checked out and to escape the humidity that crept up at sunrise and sunset. Eventually, he found himself in the philosophy and psychology sections by way of the fiction section. With a copy of Truman Capote's _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ hugged to his chest, he poked around the books about human sexuality. It was difficult to not be too explicit about what he was doing, as he covertly leant against a shelf and glanced over his shoulder. 

One of the books he found was about something called _The Kinsey Reports_. Digging around in his back pocket, he found enough coins to Xerox several of the relevant pages. Taking them home, he spent the evening reading the tiny print about a scale that broke down the different degrees of hetero and homosexuality and subsequently made a list about his previous fantasies and indulgences over the years. By the end of the evening, he circled both the four and five ratings. Tapping his pen on the page, he read the scores over again, his list, the pages, before darkening the ink around number five.

*

_Hey, Jon,_

_How's it cracking? I'm so ready to get back to Hawkins. I never thought I'd say that! Being on holiday is fun, but I'm beginning to get itchy for something to do (that might also be Paulie's dog's fleas, though). Even Chicago is getting a bit boring with nothing to do during the day._

_I finally went to the local cinema and saw Back to the Future. Have you shown that one yet? It was so cool! I think I've seen Marty on TV before. Family Ties, I think? He sort of reminds me of you. I mean, I'm obviously a Marty, but I dunno. Something about him made me think of you. You're dorky like he is._

_I was thinking Holly for a girl and Marty for a boy for the baby. Paulette couldn't find anything wrong with them, though Nate started going 'Farty Marty', but he also said 'Pukey Lukey', so I don't think there's any pleasing him. Isn't Nancy's sister's name Holly or something, though? Holly, Dolly?_

_She's convinced me to go to community college. Paulie, I mean. Not Nancy. The commute down to Bloomington will be a pain in the ass everyday, but I can get a lift with my folks at least twice a week. They have a math speciality, too. I'm sort of looking forward to it. Tell anyone and I'll kill you._

_I come back soon. Want to catch up? Popcorn's on me._

_Take it easy,  
Steve_

_P.S. I miss you._

*

He woke one night to find himself laying on his stomach. The window to his bedroom was open a crack and a warm breeze was making his yellowed curtains twist across the glass. The tails of dreams chased him, just a suggestion of what they were in his foggy mind. The beady red lights on his alarm clock read that it was just past three AM. Rubbing his face on the pillow, Jonathan felt the sheets twist around his bare legs, the boxers he was wearing riding low on his hips.

It was with a distant, vague acknowledgement that he realised he was hard. It had been a while since he'd woken up in the middle of the night like that. Most nights he slept lightly, keeping on eye open for anything that didn't belong there. The presence of something else stirring in the night was unusual and left him shutting his eyes and pressing his hips further into the bed. There was a surge of heat that washed over him, delicious and toe-curling, his fingers pulling at the sheets.

Jonathan gasped and rutted against the bed, far more unpractised over the summer than he cared to admit. Work and family obligations had left him with less time than he would have liked to have had. A hand curled into the pillow while the other pushed down the elastic waist of his boxers. Biting into a knuckle, he shut his eyes and tried to chase the remnants of his dreams.

Soft lips against a hard jaw. The burn of stubble against his cheek. Honey-coloured eyes and tawny hair that had grown to a ridiculous length. Chicken-scratch letters wrapped around postcards from galleries and key rings from destinations he'd never been to. Buttery popcorn and sickeningly sweet soda. 

His orgasm came rushing up with a chaser of guilt and frustration. Hissing out a name he didn't dare utter any louder, he burrowed his face into the pillow. Nobody had to find out, least of all _him_.

*

_~~Dear Steve,~~ _

_~~I miss you, too.~~ _


	11. xi. 1645 - Weird Science

Senior year hit Jonathan harder than he'd expected. He knew it would. All his teachers had been preparing him for it, slowly increasing their workload and expectations for the students continuing on until senior year. Even so, the shock of it still took some time getting used to. Classes started a day earlier than the rest of the school, simply to go over the rubric; Jonathan wondered if this was what Steve had gone through, and if that had contributed to his growing despondency as the year had gone on.

To further leave him on unstable footing, he and Nancy only shared English together. She'd moved into algebra II while he went to geometry (which he hadn't really wanted to do, but he assumed it might help with photography somehow). For some peculiar reason, she'd picked up geography, something she'd never shown an interest in, while Jonathan continued on with civics. The only class he looked forward to was photography, which was really part of the broader mixed media category, a subject far too many students took on. They went in thinking it would be a soft subject, before they realised an essay was required with each assignment. With four photographic assignments per semester, plus an exam at the end of each, it quickly took up more time than any other class.

Somehow he managed to juggle homework and work at the Hawk. Sitting up in the projection room, feet perched on the chair that Steve often took, he stared at the empty corner. The dream that wasn't a dream still haunted him. The letters were wedged between rolls of film in his dresser, the postcards that had been sent hanging off a string with small wooden pegs that ran across his wall. The key ring sat between his car and house keys, alongside a small dolphin that Will had brought home with him one time when he was eight and Lonnie had deigned to take him to an aquarium in the city. Nancy had seen the newest charm and asked when he'd been to Milwaukee; Jonathan had smiled, shrugged, and changed the subject.

He had no idea when Steve was going to be back. The last letter had indicated ' _soon_ ', but there was no date. It had been postmarked the end of July. Jonathan had written back twice to the address scrawled on the back, but there had never been any indication of whether Steve had received any of them. They had never bothered to exchange numbers, either, not that Jonathan would have risked the interstate charges. 

One night he went through the phone book, searching through until he found _Harrington, R.L & M.H._ He had no idea what Steve's parents names were, but he'd heard Hopper once refer to 'that Bobby Harrington' as a 'son of a bitch'. Taking an educated guess and assuming Bobby was Robert, he ran his finger across to the phone number. Standing by the wall, the receiver in his hand and fingers poised over the number pad, he took a moment to consider it before he punched in the numbers. The dial rang until it began to buzz out, the ringing echoing in his ear.

Deciding to trust that Steve would make contact first, Jonathan tried to go about his days at school. Nancy bitched about school as they sat on the hood of his car, muttering about classes that Jonathan wasn't in. The punks had a new album on loop and Jonathan bopped his head to it, recognising some of the lyrics. A group of freshman girls had taken up residence under a tree a stone's throw from the car, and Nancy kept shooting a glare over at them; Jonathan couldn't tell if it was because they were too close or their short, tartan skirts that they wore that she was having a fit over.

Saturday came. He settled into his usual room, feet up on the chair, and began to load up the reels while his math homework lay open on the milk crate. He was eighteen, it was a new school year, and he was back in that same old routine. On an impulse, he'd brought along a box of popcorn, a packet of peanut M&M's in his bag. After every reel change, he'd look at his watch, look at the door, and tell himself to not to seem too overly keen for a hopeful knock. His lunch break came and went with no hot breakfasts brought out.

Jonathan told himself he wasn't disappointed. He tried to, at any rate.

His shift finished at five-thirty PM, with his last film starting at four. His finish time gave him enough time to clean up the room, prepare the first reel for the next showing and make it home in time to help his mother with dinner while Will set the table. With a heavy sigh, eyeing off his unfinished math homework, he checked his watch. The cinema was beginning to fill, and he was about to rewatch the same goddamn Anthony Michael Hall/Ilan Mitchell-Smith feature for what happened to be the fortieth time in four weeks. 

There was a rap on the door that sounded oddly familiar, a trill from some nursery rhyme, and Jonathan turned to let Doug or Anneliese or whoever know to keep their voice down, when Steve burst in. 

Steve. Skin more tanned than ever, the freckles on his cheek standing out like someone had deliberately coloured them in. He filled the doorway, the cuffs of his shirt rolled up and his shorts pulled over his knees, with a box of popcorn under one arm, his usual packet of Junior Mints sticking out, and a goddamn cup filled with fucking ice again.

Somehow, Jonathan found his voice.

'Hey.'

'Hey, you,' Steve chirped, winking as he shut the door behind him with his foot. 'I didn't miss the good part yet, did I?'

Jonathan shook his head as Steve took his seat. There were a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his head, and he found his eyes drawn to them. Or, rather, his hair.

Or, more specifically, his lack of hair.

Someone had cut it. Inches of it gone, cut back until it looked like someone had taken a #7 clipped guard and shaved it off. Only the top remained, a curly mess that looked like someone had spilled blonde dye through it. Staring at Steve's head, at the remains of once had surely been miles of luscious hair, Jonathan found himself at a loss of words. 

Catching his stare, Steve turned, a fistful of popcorn raised to his mouth. Licking his lips, he lowered his hand and coughed, clear his throat.

'My old man made me cut it. Said it wasn't professional. He's not sold on the dye job, but it's too late.'

He spoke quietly. It clearly hadn't been the first time someone had been caught staring. Taking a breath, Jonathan did the math in his head. It was the end of August. Ivy Tech, the community college in Bloomington (not that he'd been doing the research, of course not) had started up that week. Steve was likely working now, too. 

'It's different,' he said, then, thinking it probably wasn't what Steve wanted to hear, 'you sorta look like Robert Downey in this movie.'

'Who?'

'He plays Ian. He's got a similar cut. You're more, uh, blonde, though.'

Self-consciously, Steve ruffled the top of his hair. The curls went flying everywhere, a mess of tawny brown and golden blonde. The corner of his mouth twisted into half a smile, but also a grimace at the edge. His fingers twisted around it; it looked less styled than usual, as though he'd spent all day messing it up. Given how he couldn't quite get his hand away from it, it was entirely possible he had.

'Is that a good thing?'

Jonathan took a moment. Taking one of the reels, he turned it around in his hand while he flicked the projector on. 

'He's a bit of a jerk, but... he's got good style, I guess? What do I know, this shirt hasn't been washed in a week.'

Steve laughed and Jonathan joined in. He wanted to tell Steve that he looked good, but he couldn't find the right words. The popcorn was set down between them, the ice rattling away as Steve mixed it with his straw, the plastic lid squeaking. Jonathan visibly flinched at the sound of it (okay, he actually hadn't missed that) and leant over to pull the packet of M&M's out of his bag. Tossing them towards Steve, he went about preparing the next reel. 

There he was. Bright as ever, with a hideously orange shirt and jean shorts that cut across the middle of his thigh. His backpack gave a steady thump as it hit the ground and he went about mixing the first packet of Junior Mints in the box. Steve goddamn Harrington, fresh from his vacation up north, poking at Jonathan's homework and gave an interested hum. He pulled out his glasses like they were nothing and slipped them on. It occurred to Jonathan that with the ease he did was likely because he comfortable wearing them around Jonathan now.

They weren't going to mention the kiss. That much was obvious. Nor the fact that Steve had said (well, written) that he missed him. And Jonathan was definitely going to remain tight-lipped about the dream he'd had and the effect it had had on him. They were going to ignore all of that.

'When's your sister due?'

'Uh. What month is it? August, September, October- December... twenty-seventh, I think? Around then. That's when the doctor wanted to book her in for a Caesar section.'

'Caesarean.'

'Yeah, that thing.'

Jonathan still couldn't tear his eyes away. There he was, Steve goddamn Harrington, sitting back on the squeaky office chair. Unable to help himself, his eyes kept dropping to Steve's bare thighs, the expanse of skin that a part of his mind kept whispering was utterly forbidden to him. Swallowing hard, he turned back to the projector as Steve attacked the bag of candy with his teeth, ripping it open and pouring the M&M's in alongside the Junior Mints. 

They definitely weren't going to discuss the kiss. It was off the cards. Jonathan was equal parts relieved and concerned. He couldn't help but wonder what that meant. He didn't think he was that awful of a kisser; Nancy had certainly never complained. Sure, he'd lacked some of the passion that he supposed boyfriends were meant to feel for their girlfriends, but he couldn't quite help that. And after the kiss, Steve had gone and put his head back down on his lap, which had further confused him, especially now that Steve was putting on those glasses again that was a secret just for the two of them. Jonathan was going to need an aspirin at this rate.

The trailers were finishing and the film was starting. Leaning back in the chair, Steve handed the box of popcorn and candy over to Jonathan, who helped himself to a small handful. The ice in the cup was rattling as he set it down by his feet.

'Is this movie any good?'

Jonathan screwed up his nose. He'd seen it so much by now that he didn't even really need to watch it. It was typical Hollywood schlock, and even though it was a John Hughes film, he found it to be one of the weakest. Even his bottom-feeder status in high school couldn't get him to indulge in the fantasies of having one over on his usual tormentors. He told Steve as such, as he reached over and grabbed his math homework.

'Honestly, I'd rather be doing this.'

Eyeing the book, licking the salt and butter off it, Steve slowly slid his eyes back over to Jon. They seemed so much larger behind the lenses, and Jonathan couldn't help but wonder just how badly Steve needed them. He had a perpetual squint, one Jonathan hadn't even really noticed until now. With the thin frames perched on his nose and his hair cut back so drastically, he actually looked approachable. Maybe not so much that Jonathan would dare speak to him in public (and certainly not flirt), but he wouldn't look away so quickly if he happened to catch his eye.

'What?' he asked when Steve didn't say anything straight away.

'Can I help?'

Looking at the cover of his textbook, he cocked his head at Steve.

'With your homework? Can I help you?'

Jonathan was silent. Looking down at the book, he turned to the chapter he had been putting off. Pursing his lips, he looked up at the screen, then stood just enough to peer out the window and into the audience. It was a quiet showing this afternoon, only a few attendees, despite being a prime time spot. The hype of the movie had died down, and the only viewers now were stragglers or the girls still frothing over one of the lead actors. Sitting back down, he shrugged and nodded. Passing Steve the book, he flicked back to the chapter he was expected to finish for class and opened up his workbook.

While they had to keep pausing for Jonathan to load up the reels, it turned out that Steve actually was a good tutor. It wasn't as though Jonathan had anything to compare it to, having never had the experience of a personal tutor before, but Steve was patient, nodding as Jonathan explained how it was being taught in class and where his lack of understanding was. Considering it all, he suggested an alternative option to answering the questions, breaking it down so Jonathan could follow along. There was a depth to his patience that Jonathan had never actually associated with Steve before. He'd cock and turned his head, his eyes bright as he drank in what was being said before he reiterated the topic, just to be sure he understood what Jonathan was attempting to explain and then broke it down.

It also meant they were sitting close. Jonathan was already partly distracted between the film and trying to concentrate on Steve helping him with the questions, but he couldn't ignore the brush of Steve's shoulder along his own, the knock of their knees. It was difficult to tell if Steve noticed it, too. There was never a hitch in his breath, a pause when their hands touched as Jonathan passed the pen over. In a way, it was utterly frustrating, more than the math homework. He wanted some sign, a signal that Steve had actually remembered the kiss. That maybe he wanted another one. There was nothing, though, not even when Jonathan managed to slowly scratch out the answer to a question and actually managed to get it right. All he got was a clap on the shoulder and a thumbs up.

'Awesome, great work. Did you want to try the next one? I bet it's not a fluke.'

It was difficult to stay frustrated when Steve was so damn good at it, though.

Half of Jonathan's homework was done by the time the film finished. As the credits began to roll, he stood, setting the books down, and stretched his arms above his head. His t-shirt slid up, revealing a sliver of skin that he quickly went to hide, his pasty tones mildly embarrassing compared to the deep, olive tan that covered Steve. Somehow he had managed to become more pale over the summer.

Behind him, he heard Steve's chair squeak as he, too, got up. Listening to him pick up after himself, Jonathan craned his neck as he saw the guests leaving the cinema, mounds of rubbish left behind. At least Steve left the place cleaner than when he arrived.

'I've got more kids on Saturday morning now,' Steve began, picking his way around the chairs and desk as he grabbed his backpack. 'So my mornings are now pretty packed. Is it okay if I come in the afternoon now?'

It took Jonathan a moment to understand what Steve was saying; he was asking to keep up their routine, just at a different time. Unable to help himself, a soft smile spread over Jonathan's lips and he found himself nodding, just a little. Pushing his hair from his face (and how bizarre it was, to think he now had longer hair than Steve), he shoved his own books back into his bag. 

'Yeah. I generally finish at this time, anyway. So... yeah, if you come around four, four-thirty, you can catch my last screening of the day.'

'We could go out for dinner after.'

It took Jonathan a breath to replay what Steve had said. At first it had sounded like a date. It couldn't have been, though. Steve wasn't asking him on a date. It was just a different meal than their usual lunch. Swallowing hard, Jonathan coughed, gave a crooked smile and shrugged. 

'Sure. I'd have to ask my mom first, though,' he replied, hoping it sounded like he was joking and that he didn't actually need to ask Joyce's permission to eat dinner with Steve.

Mostly. She would worry if he didn't come straight home after work without calling. And it couldn't be a regular thing. He doubted they could afford him eating out once a week regularly.

'Aw, yeah, sure. She could come, too.'

Even so, it sounded like Steve was straining for a joke, too. Pursing his lips again, Jonathan nodded and turned back to the reel. The last of the credits were rolling on the screen. Steve coughed, sounding an awful lot like Jonathan, and pulled his backpack higher on his shoulder.

'I should- my folks wanted to catch up, anyway. Find out how my first week went.'

'Yeah. Yeah. I'll, uh, I'll see you next week?' Jonathan asked, as it occurred to him they likely wouldn't see one another during the week. It actually made him a little sad.

Steve nodded. He took a step forward with a sharp intake of breath, as though stuck about which way to move, before rocking back on his heels. Throwing him a peace sign, he went to leave. At the last moment, he pulled his glasses off and slipped them in the front pocket of his shirt. The door to the small room was opened and Steve threw him a wave as he slipped out. As the door closed behind him, it occurred to Jonathan that maybe the kiss hadn't been as far from Steve's thoughts as it had initially appeared.


	12. xii. 1640 - Teen Wolf

Right on time, Steve turned up at the Hawk. Jonathan was a little more prepared to see him this time when he arrived, wearing a soft pink polo with a collar that emphasised the closely clipped nape of his neck. It was still a shock to see; Steve had been known for his ridiculous hair for so long, that seeing him without it took a moment. Another pair of shorts clung to his legs, high enough that there didn't seem to be a point where that deep tan ended. Without intending to, Jonathan met him in the lobby, holding a box that contained several of the reels from June in his arms, along with the technical specifications that had come with each film. He caught Steve through the window, finishing a cigarette and crushing it against the side of the trash can, nodding his head as a hello before he entered.

'So, are you two actually friends now?' Anneliese asked from behind the counter. Jonathan could recall her asking something similar months earlier.

Looking back over at her as he set the box down on the shelf under the counter, Jonathan furrowed his brow. As he stood, he dusted his hands off and went to grab a fresh box of popcorn for Steve. Sure, guests that weren't paying full ticket price weren't meant to get a freshly popped batch, but Jonathan doubted Doug would ride him for it.

'You've asked that before.'

'And you didn't give a proper answer,' Anneliese replied smoothly as she prepared Steve's customary soda. He watched as the ice dropped into the cup and shuddered. He was sure she was adding more than customary. 

'Yeah. I guess we are, then,' he replied, scrawling Steve's name down on the log and taking the cup when it was handed over. 'I'll pay later.'

Slipping out from behind the counter before he could get stuck serving customers (or Anneliese asking for Jonathan to give Steve her number again), he headed out to meet Steve. His backpack was hanging off his shoulder, the crushed pack of cigarettes sticking out from his pocket. He smelt faintly of smoke, and Jonathan found himself trying to hold back a smile as he thrust the box of popcorn at him. It had become a familiar scent, combined with his expensive aftershave and the buttery flavour of the popcorn.

Taking the cup, Steve popped the lid off and peered inside. His eyes brightened and there was a slight skip to his step.

'Aw, sweet. Extra ice.'

'Ugh.' God, he was going to kill Anneliese. 

For a moment, he swore he saw Steve smirk before he took a sip, the straw scratching over the plastic cup. Shoving his hands in his pockets to resist the urge to snatch the cup away from Steve and toss it in a bin, he held the door open for him and led him to the back corridor. 

'You're gonna love this one,' he said, more to stop Steve from rubbing the straw against the lid. The projection room was already set up, Jonathan having got everything ready early.

'Yeah? What is it?'

Jonathan pointed to the top of the first reel - _Teen Wolf_. After Steve's letter about _Back to the Future_ (a film that Jonathan, too, had greatly enjoyed and had never tired of playing), he'd waited somewhat impatiently for the next Michael J. Fox feature. Sure, it was no _Back to the Future_ , but _Teen Wolf_ wasn't as awful as some of the other teen flicks that had been shown over the summer. For the second time ever, he'd asked Doug if he could pick the film he chose that weekend, simply so he and Steve could watch something together other than _American Ninja_ or _Compromising Positions_ , two films that he'd cry if he had to watch again.

With a sudden noise that Jonathan took to be excitement, given he had a mouthful of soda at the time, Steve handed him the box of popcorn and grabbed the reel. Cautioning him to be careful, he took in Steve's bright eyes, the way he chewed on the end of his straw as he turned the reel over and studied it from all angles as though it could reveal more information.

'Is it any good?' he asked, looking up.

'It's...' Jonathan shrugged. 'It's no Marty and Doc. But it's okay. A bit predictable, but I think you'll like it.'

Sitting down behind the projector, he held out his hand for Steve to hand the reel over. When he did, he went to work setting it up, threading it through as Steve went about making himself comfortable. His chair was pulled back next to Jonathan's now, even though the view wasn't quite as good this far back. 

As he got ready, Jonathan told him about the math test he had had that week. The marks weren't back yet, but he thought he'd done alright. Then, after a moment's consideration, he admitted the help Steve had given him had actually helped him a lot. The compliment caused Steve to slow as he reached into his backpack, pushing away whatever was stowed away in there as he pulled out his glasses case. Their eyes met for a beat, before Steve looked away and took out his glasses.

'Yeah, well. It's how I make most of my money, so I'd hope it helped.'

'You ever think of teaching?'

'Oh, fuck, _no_.' The vitriolic way he said it took Jonathan by surprise. It must have come across on his face as Steve softened a little when he continued. He settled back in his chair and tossed an ankle over his knee. 'I mean, I like tutoring, but I can pick and choose who I deal with. I've had some kids for one or two sessions, but they either won't pay attention or their parents expect me to be a glorified baby-sitter. It also means I can work with the kids individually. Like... like El. I work with her for two hours every Saturday. Most kids it's only half an hour, maybe an hour if they're older, like Dustin. But El needs the individual help. She still struggles with multiplication. If I were a teacher, I couldn't do that.'

'So what do you want to do?'

Steve made a noise and shrugged, flopping back in his seat. 'I dunno. My dad wants me to work for his company, but... I dunno. It's safe, it's secure, but it seems so goddamn _boring_. And my mom doesn't care what I do, so long as I marry a nice girl and settle down. I just...'

He was picking through the popcorn. Finding an unpopped kernel, he tossed it towards the trash can. It bounced off the cabinet that housed the old, unused reels and posters and landed in the can.

'I want to get out of Hawkins. I don't care where. I mean, Ivy Tech is fine. I'm loving the math classes, even though they're still a bit basic. It's just getting me out of the house and out of my dad's office, y'know?'

Jonathan nodded. This was the longest Steve had ever spoken about his plans beyond high school. The trailers weren't due to start for another few minutes, and he held off from loading the first reel to encourage Steve to keep talking. He began to dig around his bag, in search of something.

'What are your classes like?'

'They're okay. I'm doing this anthropology class, which is pretty cool. I got to pick a few classes of my own interest, in addition to the math classes.' Finding a packet of M&M's, he yanked them out peeled them open. Leaning over, he passed them to Jonathan, who took a couple, before he spilled the contents into the box. 'I go into the city with my mom on Mondays and Tuesdays, and on Thursdays I have to drive myself because she stays back late 'cause she and my dad have therapy. On Wednesdays and Fridays I go to work, at one of the satellite offices that my dad has over in Dolan.'

There was a soft lull in Steve's dialogue. Threading the reel up, Jonathan tried to keep his body posture relaxed, neutral. Knees pointed to Steve, head tilted in his direction. He really knew so little about Steve's personal life. He liked his popcorn littered with chocolate, he preferred Katharine Hepburn over Audrey. He seemed to like the colours pink and orange and he had an elder half-sister. Beyond the superficial details there appeared to be such a deeper, more thoughtful young man than he pretended to be.

'Ivy Tech have a basketball team,' he said brightly. 'It's only for fun, none of the guys take it seriously. But that's been cool. And I'm still tutoring. Tuesday and Wednesday nights, most of Saturday and just a couple on Sunday.'

'You sound busy,' Jonathan said quietly. 'When do you find time for homework? Or... for yourself?'

'I'm managing.' Steve shrugged. 'I like to keep busy, anyway. If I stop...'

He took in a deep breath. The coming attractions were playing, the trailers for films that were due to be released within the next month. Steve's amber eyes were fixed on the screen behind the delicate, round frames that sat upon his nose; it appeared to be slightly bent, a bump in the bridge that Jonathan was certain hadn't been there some twelve months ago.

'If you stop?' he prompted gently.

Jonathan's voice seemed to shake Steve from his reverie. He shook his head, snapping out of it, and went to focus on his popcorn. Muttering that it didn't matter, Steve waved his hand at Jonathan. A quiet part of Jonathan's mind wanted to argue and point out that it clearly did matter to Steve, but the words faltered in his throat before they could even reach his mouth.

Steve sighed. It was heavy, and he sagged in the seat. As Jonathan changed the reels in preparation for the start of the film, he watched Steve from the corner of his eye. A hand kept rubbing over his mouth as his eyes stayed low, focusing on the floor. Carefully, Jonathan reached over and rested his fingertips on Steve's forearm.

'Hey. The movie's starting. C'mon, you'll enjoy this, I promise.'

Lifting his head, Steve glanced at Jonathan and then towards the screen. As the lights in the cinema lowered down and the lamp in the projection room was dimmed, Jonathan heard Steve sigh heavily. Curling his fingers into his palm, Jonathan resisted the urge to reach over and place his hand on his shoulder, the way he did sometimes with Will or even his mom. 

Instead, he leant over as the opening credits played, and murmured, 'the basketball team is totally dragging without you. It's only been a few games and people are already saying they won't make playoffs.'

'Seriously?'

Jonathan nodded. Sure, he didn't know if that was just shit talk, but he often heard those things while taking shots of the game for the yearbook. Steve's eyebrows raised high, under the mess of hair that still hung over his forehead, and made a small noise from the back of his throat. It was hard to tell if the news was something he wanted to hear, but he sat a little straighter, a smug look on his face.

As the minutes ticked by and the story on the screen began to develop, Steve continued to relax. He leant back in the chair, occasionally rattling the ice or digging about in the popcorn. Sure, the movie was fairly dull after the twentieth time, but seeing the enjoyment on Steve's face really was worth it. Jonathan just wished they could have watched _Back to the Future_ together.

Steve's eyes lit up during the basketball scenes, a look of glee spreading across his face. Hunching forward, Steve's eyes darted across the screen, the look of joy that had threatened to disappear before returning in full force. There was a healthy glow that radiated from Steve as he laughed, heading throwing back as the jokes that had since became stale to Jonathan played out. Then, as Lorie Griffin tried to seduce a nervous, stuttering Michael J. Fox, Steve rested his elbows on his knees, his teeth worrying his lower lip.

Well, Steve was nothing if a little predictable. Rolling his eyes, Jonathan settled back and picked through the popcorn that was between them. Yawning, he watched the reel as it ticked through, going for another handful, his hand knocking against Steve's as he did, just as the wolf howled onscreen. 

Even if Jonathan was a little bored by this movie now, he did enjoy being able to share it with Steve. Sure, Steve had fallen into a state of melancholy as it was starting, but he seemed to have moved past it by now. Grinning wide, his tongue ran over his teeth, pushing against them as he finished his drink, noisily slurping at the dregs, and licked the salt off his fingers. As the film drew to a close and the lights in the cinema began to go up, Steve set his cup down and let out a satisfied noise.

'Well.'

'Well?' Jonathan prompted.

'Back to the Future was better.'

'Oh, by miles.'

'But that was good,' Steve said quickly. 'He reminds me of you. Michael J. Fox.'

Furrowing his brow, Jonathan shook his head, not quite following. They were nothing alike. For one, despite the slightly uncool characters he played, Michael J. Fox was definitely cool and popular. While they were both short and had floppy hair, that was about where the similarities ended in Jonathan's opinion.

Standing, Steve raised his arms above his head and gave a dramatic yawn. The pink shirt raised up high enough to reveal an expanse of tanned skirt, still with a healthy, deep olive hue, even as summer began to slowly step towards fall. Jonathan's eyes fell to where there was a dark line of hair, creating a line that disappeared under the denim waist of his shorts. Telling himself he wasn't _looking_ , that it had been perfectly innocuous, dreams be damned, he pulled the reel out and shoved it back in the can. Putting the first reel back on top, he cracked his knuckles habitually and went about picking up after himself.

'What're you doing now?'

The questions didn't quite catch Jonathan by surprise the way it may have at the start of the year. Checking his watch, he calculated how much time he had. Not enough.

'I'm meant to be making dinner.'

Steve seemed disappointed. Sucking on his teeth, he nodded his head, making a small _pop_ as he bent down and scooped his bag up. 

'Cool, cool.'

They'd discussed this the week before, Jonathan knew they had. Something about dinner. He just hadn't expected it to be this week. Thinking quickly, he tried to figure out what he had on for the rest of the week. There was a basketball game he was due to photograph on Tuesday, and on Saturday Will had a game session with the boys, and he'd have to pick him shortly after work. He'd already agreed with Morrison to cover his Sunday shift, which cut out doing anything on that day.

'Thursday,' he finally blurted out. 'You said you drive home after class on Thursday, right? I'm meant to be helping Nancy with her geography homework- '

Steve's eye twitched. Whether it was the mention of his ex-girlfriend or the subject of choice, he didn't know. It didn't matter, though, because Jonathan didn't even take the damn subject. He had no idea how he was meant to be helping.

'I still always think Bulgaria is in South America. D'you want to meet around, I dunno. Four? At the diner?'

That would give Jonathan enough time to make sure Will got home on time, plus he could... what? Change? Do his hair? Whatever he decided to do, he had time to think about it, because Steve was nodding, a bright look filling his eye. Reaching down, he grabbed Jonathan's messenger bag where he had it resting against the cabinet and passed it over, his own backpack hanging from his shoulder.

'Yeah, that would be great. I'd- I'd really enjoy that.'

Taking the bag from Steve, Jonathan slid it across his shoulder and tucked his chair back in behind the desk. Watching Steve nod as he backed up towards the door, Jonathan followed him from behind. His backpack was still open, and inside he could see several math books intended for middle school, as well as something wrapped in brown paper, a piece of tape holding it closed. Arching a brow, he wondered what could be inside of that.

'It's my birthday in a few weeks,' Steve announced as they made their way to the corridor. 

Jonathan had to clock out. Deciding he could spare a few extra minutes (Joyce wouldn't exactly panic if he didn't arrive home right on the dot, though she may start counting minutes), he took his time heading to the back office where the sign-out sheet was. Steve waited outside in the lobby as Jonathan went to jot down the time and leave his signature. The mention of Steve's pending birthday hadn't escaped him; it didn't quite sound like an invitation so much as an offer.

While he'd never explicitly thought about it, it dawned on him that he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Steve hang out with someone outside of school. He'd always arrived at the cinema on his own, avoiding the occasional throng of teenagers that loitered outside. He never said hello to anyone in the diner, even teens Jonathan would assume Steve knew. Even when he'd been in high school, Jonathan could never really recall a time he'd seen him sit at a table with a group for more than one or two lunches in a row. He was always just floating. Where he'd once had a steady circle of friends (even if Jonathan hadn't quote understood the appeal in the likes of Tommy and Carol), they'd been close. And yet, after the run in with the demogorgon the first time...

By the time he left the office, he'd made his mind up. He wasn't entirely sure when Steve's birthday actually was, but that didn't matter. He'd figure something out. When he left, Steve was digging about in his bag, a cigarette behind his ear and a lighter in his hand. His hand had folded around the paper bag that Jonathan had spotted before. He had it partway out when Jonathan cleared his throat, before he slammed it back in and zipped the bag shut.

'Let's do something for your birthday,' he said, nodding for Steve to follow him. 'When is it?'

'September twenty-first. It's a Saturday.'

'Dinner, then. If you've got nothing else on, we can go do something. Your choice.'

As they walked to the back door, Steve curled his hand around the knob. His teeth were worrying his bottom lip again. The cogs in his head were turning, and slowly he nodded, a smile spreading over his lips.

'Yeah. That sounds... that sounds good. I'll see you Thursday, anyway?'

Jonathan nodded. Thursday. Heading out the door to the parking lot at the back of the cinema together, he clapped Steve on the shoulder as he headed to his car.

'Take it easy, Steve.'

There was a moment where Steve froze. Pivoting on the ball of his foot, he looked back at Jonathan. His glasses were off; Jonathan realised that dimly, a sliver of disappointment casting through him as he took in the squint that was back, Steve's thick lashes fluttering over his eyes as he smirked and shook his head.

'Asshole. That's my line,' he shot at Jonathan before he turned, flicking him a peace sign before he lowered his index finger to flip him the bird.

Laughing softly, Jonathan covered his mouth as he grinned and swung himself into his car, his bag landing heavily in the passenger seat. Despite himself, he couldn't help but admit he was looking forward to Thursday, whatever it brought.


	13. xiii. intermission b

There was nothing to get worked up about. Jonathan rationally knew that. He and Steve had been hanging out for close to six months now. Sure, Steve had been away for part of that time, and Jonathan still wasn't sure if they were friends or just close acquaintances as they rarely spoke about anything particularly deep or personal, but he had come around to the idea that they were something. Just about all their meetings at this point had been part of a pattern, though. Steve would come to the cinema at a set time, they'd watch a movie together, maybe grab something to eat afterwards.

The only difference had been when Steve had come by his home unexpectedly. Seeing Steve fill his doorway still left Jonathan feeling somewhat peculiar, his gut twisting as he saw the Beemer in the driveway and Steve, his mouth wide with a shit-eating grin, standing there like he owned the place. As much as Jonathan tried to push the thought from his mind, too, he kept finding the kiss they had shared worming its way back into his head intrusively, pressing to the forefront of his mind in his most vulnerable moments. He'd be asleep in bed, safe and sound, and there it would be. Steve's lips on his own, the soft puff of air on his mouth, a flick of a tongue pushing past his lips and lapping against his own. He'd wake up, confused and frustrated and so damn hard that he didn't know what to do.

As the week progressed, each day dragging its feet until Jonathan was sure he'd lived Tuesday afternoon three times over, Nancy began to suspect that something was up. She'd been lost in her own head recently, worrying over her grades unnecessarily and chewing over what colleges she was going to apply to. Jonathan didn't mind it when she was quiet. He was accustomed to sitting by himself on the hood of his car, and having someone chat away with everyday was a novelty that he wasn't sure he liked all that much. Besides that, Will and Mike were newly-minted freshman and had taken to visiting them once a week. Jonathan couldn't get over just how small Will seemed among the towering seniors, all sharp angles and knobbly joints. Jonathan was sure he'd looked like that once upon a time, having always been one of the shortest in the class, but it was so bizarre to see Will in that position.

'You seem... off,' Nancy said, squinting at him as they ate their lunch on Thursday afternoon.

Raising an eyebrow at her, Jonathan turned his half-eaten apple over in his hands. He didn't particularly have an appetite. He was meant to meet Steve that night, and he still hadn't told Nancy he had to bail. All week he'd been stewing over telling her, trying to build up some credible excuse, all the while knowing he didn't particularly need one. He wasn't even taking that class, after all. Taking a bite of his apple, he looked back over to where Will was telling Max some engrossing story. He was actually starting to flourish in high school, something that filled Jonathan with pride and joy. He was taking extracurricular activities that Jonathan had always tried avoiding. The only one he was fond of was the yearbook committee.

'I can't come 'round tonight. I double booked.'

He didn't need to be looking at Nancy to know she was cocking her head to the side, shaking it in disbelief. Even turned away, he could feel her pale eyes burrowing into him in disbelief. Jonathan didn't have plans and he never double booked. And he sure as hell never dropped plans because something better came along – or someone better. And yet he had. Running his tongue over his teeth, feeling a piece of apple stuck between his incisors, he began to pick at it, only to wedge it in deeper.

'You double booked?'

'I- I... something suddenly came up.'

Turning back, finally getting the piece of apple free, he met Nancy's incredulous face. She sat there, staring at him and shaking her head slowly.

'Did you just quote _The Brady Bunch_ at me?'

Jonathan swallowed hard. 'No.'

To be fair, something _did_ come up. He just may have been the one to suggest it. It felt utterly peculiar to be making plans with Steve, plans that meant he had to cancel what he originally had on. Jonathan had always quietly judged those that ditched their friends the moment they started dating someone, and had looked down on them. He had always assumed it spoke about them as a person, to throw away everything they had to instead spend time with their newest flavour of the week. But here he was, doing essentially the same thing, with a boy who had once dated his own ex-girlfriend. It was a mess of tangles.

But it wasn't like he and Steve were dating. Hell no. They were still in that strange, initial stage of friendship. However, as Nancy narrowed her eyes at him, no doubt trying to figure out whatever great big secret he was hiding, he knew he couldn't just go and divulge that. Nancy could be territorial, and Jonathan never begrudged her that. But right then, he found himself wanting to keep this a secret. For once he finally had a secret all of his own. For years he had been left out of secrets between classmates, never privy to what was whispered behind cupped hands. He'd told himself he didn't care, he didn't want to know, as he sulked and stuck his nose back behind a book. A part of him had longed for it, though, that private inner circle. It was so rare, so unheard of, and he finally had one. It wasn't just about the kiss, either, or the nights he woke and had to bite his forearm as he ground into the bed, his hand wrapped around himself. 

Well, maybe it was partly to do with that.

'Look, I'll meet up with you after work on Sunday, okay?' he promised smoothly. 'You know I don't do geography, anyway, so what help could I be? We'll have a study afternoon, though, on Sunday.'

'Jonathan- '

Laughing, trying to seem light and breezy as Steve might, he threw a hand up. Shaking his head at Nancy's petulant expression, he rolled his eyes and scooted further up the hood of the car.

'I promise. Just... this came up unexpectedly, and I couldn't say no.'

He had also been the one to suggest Thursday afternoon. While Jonathan knew he ought to feel a sliver of guilt about it (and he actually did), he couldn't help but feel warmth twisting inside of him, unfamiliar but wholly welcome. There had been other times in his life when he'd felt a flutter in his chest, the possibility of something more than just a vaguely acute attraction to someone in his class, just enough times for him to realise that what he felt for guys was not what most other guys felt. But there had never been anything beyond that. Jonathan was quite certain he was the only queer at Hawkins High.

He didn't want to get ahead of himself, though. Just as he was sure he was the only decidedly un-heterosexual person at school, he was also sure that whatever that kiss had been between him and Steve could be put down to... to an accident. A once-off. Steve had gotten lost in the music and the moment and whether the kiss had been good or bad for him, it had been a one-time deal. And instead of running and scurrying away, accusing Jonathan of trying to turn him, he'd decided to still be his friend. That was how Jonathan had decided to approach that issue, at any rate.

*

The moment the final bell rang for the day, Jonathan was ready to flee the school. One good thing about Will now being at high school with him was that he didn't need to worry about his brother waiting for him. The middle school got out ten minutes earlier than the high school, and although Jonathan didn't view it as that big of an issue, Joyce would stress. Some days were still worse than others, for all three of them, but being in the same building as Will reduced some of the issues.

Jonathan had already let his mother know about the change in plans. While she wasn't particularly thrilled at the idea of Will being on his own, the two of them had managed to convince her it was time to loosen the reins a little. He was in high school; it was time for him to have a greater sense of independence. There had still been a pause, though, when Jonathan mentioned he was meeting someone for an early dinner after school. Joyce had given him a _look_ , the kind that made his gut lurch, asked if it was Nancy, and Jonathan had only shook his head. There was a tense moment when she'd taken a drag of her cigarette, studied him and had obviously gone through her mental Rolodex of all people she knew he associated with.

'Steve?' she'd finally asked, a little wry.

'I'll be home at six. Six-thirty at the latest,' he'd hurriedly said, scurrying off before any further probing could take place.

Checking the time when they got home, Jonathan quickly calculated he had enough time to shower if he was fast about it. Change, make himself presentable for... some reason or another. It didn't mean anything. Jonathan liked to look neat. Besides, he'd been developing prints all afternoon, he probably still reeked of developing fluid.

Will chatted as they headed home. He had been talking about the musical the school was putting on that year, and Dustin was planning on trying out for it. Will didn't seem all that thrilled at the idea of trying out, but Dustin wanted the support so he was thinking of tagging along. Hopper was also trying to nudge El into joining a club or two, widen her social skills, and she'd probably appreciate another friendly face. Nodding, giving a noise of approval, Jonathan set his bag down by the couch as Will tottered off to start on his homework. That expediency was unlikely to last through to midterms.

He'd barely had a chance to figure out what direction he was going to head in, bathroom or bedroom, when there was the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway. His first thought was _Hopper_ , then _Lonnie_. Heading to the window, he pushed the curtain way just enough to see Steve''s maroon BMW parked behind his own Galaxie. Confusion rushed through him as he glanced at his watch. It had only just hit three-thirty.

Opening the door, hearing Will down the hall, likely grabbing a snack before he settled down (nice to know that the procrastination skills were already developing), Jonathan watched as Steve got out of the car. He'd half expected Steve to look different having been to his college classes that day, but he looked strangely the same. Jean shorts that had probably cost as much as Jonathan's monthly wage, too-white sneakers, a polo that was neatly tucked in. All of it looked very Steve, except for the bizarre lenticular cap perched on his head, his hair sticking out in tufts under the brim.

'What- what're- '

'Who is it?' Will chirped. He had appeared beside Jonathan and peeked under his arm, waving as he held a glass of juice. 'Hi, Steve!'

Great. So much for keeping some things a secret. 

Coughing, he squeezed away from Will and headed down the porch to meet Steve halfway. The cap looked even more obnoxious close up.

'You, uh- that's definitely a hat.'

'I know, huh?' Steve grinned and took it off, turning it over. It looked brand new. 'I found it in the city. It's pretty great, huh? I feel like I could get it to take off.'

Putting it back on carefully, he waved at Will, who disappeared back inside. Licking his lips, Jonathan looked back at the too-expensive car parked behind the secondhand one he'd gone halves in with his mother. Rubbing a hand over his forehead, he turned back to Steve and struggled to think of what to say.

'Wasn't I meant to meet you at the diner?'

'Yeah, but traffic was good coming back and Mom was home and I didn't want to deal with her, so... I'm not intruding or anything, am I? I mean, I can go- '

'No!' Jonathan sounded too eager. Taking a breath, he held it and shook his head. 'No, no. I can- just give me a minute, let me grab my wallet, we can go, just- '

An amused smile had flickered over Steve's face. For a moment, a look Jonathan faintly recognised crossed Steve's expression. There was a glimmer of excitement in his eyes, almost as bright as that ridiculous cap that caught the sunlight. Taking a breath, definitely wishing he'd had a shower now, Jonathan jabbed his thumb back towards the house.

'Stay here, I'll be back in two shakes.'

Hurrying back inside, he grabbed his bag from off the floor and headed down to his bedroom. Tossing the bag on the bed, he pulled his shirt off, over his head, and tossed it onto the pile of dirty laundry on the floor. Tearing open his dresser, he dug around for something that wasn't only clean but nice. Fussing over the t-shirts, cursing all of them for being well-worn, he picked through them, dissatisfied. 

'Are you friends with Steve Harrington?'

Startled by Will, he crashed into the dresser. Turning around, Jonathan bit back the urge to scold his younger for brother for coming in while he was dressing. He had left the door open, after all. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head, wondered who else would be asking him that question (God, he was so sick of it, he was allowed to have friends, wasn't he?), and grabbed a shirt. It was a navy blue; a colour he didn't wear all that often, but it would do. Pulling it on, he tugged it down over the waistband of his jeans and went to find his wallet in his bag.

'Tell mom I'm out. She already knows, but just in case she forgets. Do your homework before you watch TV.'

Will was grinning at him when he pushed past. Right on his heels, he jabbed his finger into the small of Jonathan's spine, digging his finger in when Jonathan gave a barking squawk.

'Are you going on a date?'

'Oh my _God_ , fuck off- '

It wasn't a date. It definitely wasn't a date. Jonathan hadn't cancelled his plans with Nancy to go on a date with Steve Harrington. That kiss had just been a glitch in Steve's programming. That was all. Definitely it.

When he returned to the car, Tears For Fears were playing. Steve was sitting in the driver's seat, one tanned leg sticking out while he bobbed his head along. Jonathan recognised the outro to The Working Hour, the saxophone blaring. Cocking his head to the side, he made his way to the vehicle, a little afraid to touch it as he got in closer. Steve's Ray Bans were on, the iridescent cap catching the light as he nodded his head. Twitching his fingers, he flinched a little when Steve cheerfully told him to get in, he'd drive them. It wasn't so much of the idea of Steve driving, but the fact that Jonathan was welcome in his car - a car that likely cost as much as half a year of Joyce's wage. Clearing his throat, he nodded and rounded to the passenger side door. Shit, he felt like he was going to mark it by just sitting in it.

' _God_ , I love this album,' Steve called out when Jonathan had sat down. 'Hey, you changed your shirt. That's a nice colour.'

'Uh, yeah, I had- the dark room stinks, so- '

Pulling the cap off his head, Steve had leant over and begun to force it on Jonathan's head. Freezing, he sat still as the cap was manipulated on his head, his hair pushed across his brow and behind his ears as Steve fussed with it. Without waiting for permission, a lock of his hair was tucked behind his ear, Steve's fingers warm on his skin.

'There. Suits you. You should wear it.'

Jonathan wasn't quite sure what to say. He caught a glance of himself in the rear view mirror and decided he looked utterly ridiculous. Shaking his head, he grabbed the seat belt and pulled it on. The hat looked like a hazard, and he wasn't about to get hurt because someone was distracted by it.

The song changed over and the opening notes of Everybody Wants To Rule The World began to play. As Steve reversed out of the driveway and onto the road, he let out a loud whoop and smacked his hand on the wheel. Jonathan swore he could see Will peeking out through the curtains in the living room and his cheeks went a little pink at the mere thought. God, this wasn't a fucking _date_.

'I love this song!' Steve hollered. 'I mean, they're no Prince, but- oh, isn't the beat so cool? _Welcome to your life, there's no turning back-_ '

Steve began to sing. Silent, Jonathan curled down in his seat, watching him as the corners of his lips tugged upwards. He had a melodic voice, perky and upbeat, if not exactly in tune. His fingers drummed on the wheel as he drove, unabashed and carefree. 

'C'mon, sing with me, Jon.'

'I don't know the words,' he attempted to argue, lying weakly. It was like _Fame_ all over again.

Steve saw right through it. 'Bullshit. C'mon, I know you know the words.'

'I- I don't sing.'

' _Jonathan_ \- '

The song burst forth into the crescendo that always had Jonathan humming along. Without expecting it to happen, Steve's hand lashed out and grabbed his wrist. Squeezing tightly, Jonathan's pale skin standing out against the lush tan, he made a rather rude noise as their hands were lifted up. Steve's skin was warm. He was always so goddamn warm. For a moment, he was back on the couch, a completely different song playing in the background, gentler and sweeter. Steve's thumb was pressing against his palm as he burst back into song, his fingers creeping up until they were threaded together.

' _There's a room where the light won't find you!_ ' he called out, not quite singing so much as yelling the lyrics. ' _Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down!_ '

Uncertainly, Jonathan took a breath. He'd never really sung in front of other people, his bashfulness always raring its ugly head before he could squeak out a note. But Steve's enthusiasm was utterly contagious, and Jonathan found himself taking a breath as he joined in during the chorus.

His voice, softer, smaller and tremulous elicited a cry of delight from Steve. His hands pattered over the wheel quicker as he drove. Sitting there, singing along, Jonathan actually found himself enjoying it. Steve had yet to let go of his hand, and Jonathan didn't quite dare to move it lest he draw attention to it. He definitely didn't want to admit how nice it felt, how wonderful it was to hold Steve's hand.

_Shit_.

There was absolutely no need for Steve to continue to hold his hand. That part of the song was over. And yet as he continued to sing, head bobbing along, he waved their hands together, sending Jonathan rocking about this way and that.

' _See_ , I knew you knew the lyrics,' Steve teased as the song faded out.

The next song began to play. As Steve laughed, utterly delighted by coercing Jonathan into singing, he lowered their hands and finally let go to change gears. Withdrawing his hand back onto his lap, Jonathan pursed his lips tightly together, rubbing them uncertainly.

'I'm glad you can take joy in my humiliation.'

'It's not humiliating,' Steve shot back. 'I love singing. It's fun.'

That was an understatement if he'd ever heard one. Shaking his head, Jonathan leant against the door, watching him drive. Briefly, he wondered if the sunglasses were prescription. Surely they had to be. It would be a way to hide how badly he needed them, and would also explain Steve's former tendency to prowl the school halls with them perched on his nose.

As they drove into the town square, Jonathan spotting the odd familiar face on the way, Steve chatted brightly. He spoke about his classes that week (anthropology was still neat, he had to take a required English class that made him feel like he was back in eighth grade, and the math classes were dragging a bit and it sounded like he was bored with not being challenged), how boring it was to be stuck in an office everyday but the extra money was nice. Jonathan didn't mind sitting there, letting Steve fill the space between them with words.

The diner was bustling when they arrived, every bay outside it filled. They parked the car in the parking lot behind the cinema as per Jonathan's instruction. Students were filling the tables from the public and pastoral school alike. Catching Steve's somewhat edgy look, Jonathan pointed across the road at the bakery.

'What about there? We can grab some pigs in a blanket, eat 'em in the car.'

As it turned out, Steve was far more into pastries than Jonathan had expected. Refusing to let Jonathan pay, he ordered more than just sausage-stuffed croissants. Crullers, raisin-filled scones, a pair of cupcakes piled high with frosting. Jonathan had to convince him to not purchase anything else, his teeth already hurting as he looked at all the sugar-filled goods.

Retreating to the car, Steve carrying the bag and Jonathan juggling a coffee for Steve and a bottle of water for himself, Steve turned the questioning back to him. He asked about Jonathan's plans for college, what he did aside from photography, how Nancy was.

'She's... well,' Jonathan replied cautiously as they neared the car. 

'I'm not pissed at you, you know,' Steve suddenly blurted out. 'For sleeping with her.'

The statement made Jonathan stop walking. He stood at the trunk of the car, holding the two beverages, as Steve unlocked the back doors. He gestured for Jonathan to get in, sliding in first and opening the other door for him. Taking a few awkward steps, Jonathan got in. It was difficult to balance the coffee between his fingertips without spilling it. The bakery always made it too hot and he was sure somebody was going to scald themselves someday.

'I wasn't even sure what I was doing,' he said weakly, not particularly keen on having this conversation. Clearing his throat, he passed Steve his coffee. 'I think I knew for sure straight away. As soon as it happened, that I was... you know.'

Steve just stared at him and sipped the coffee, setting the bag between them. The sunglasses were perched on top of his head, and Jonathan remembered, a little belatedly, that he was still wearing the ridiculous cap. Every now and then, he'd catch a reflection of it in Steve's sunglasses.

'What?'

'Gay.'

'Oh!'

'I really just wanted to go home. It wasn't... _bad_ , I just...' 

Jonathan may or may not have started thinking about people that definitely weren't Nancy or Nancy-shaped halfway through it. He'd refused to admit it to himself at the time, but his mind had filled with images of certain people, taller and broader, with freckles and stubble and wilder hair. 

Pulling out one of the pigs in a blanket, Steve peeled back the waxy paper. The car quickly filled with the smell of pastry and oil. He'd shut the door out of habit, and he wondered if he ought to open it. Before he could even make a move or take a bite of the hot pastry, Steve gave another exclamation. 

'Oh, that reminds me, I've got something for you- '

Steve suddenly lunged towards Jonathan's lap. Stuck, the coffee suddenly shoved back into his hands, Jonathan froze as one of Steve's hands, firm and heavy and made hotter by the cup he'd been holding, reached between Jonathan's legs. Steve's chest collided with Jonathan's knee as he turned away, the back of his head pointed to Jonathan. With a grunt, he groped about, an elbow digging into Jonathan's stomach as Steve searched for something between Jonathan's feet. Unable to breathe, Jonathan tried to remain still. He'd had a dream that started off like this, only just the night before. 

With a huff, Steve turned his head to look up at Jonathan, cheek smacking on Jonathan's thigh. While he intended to ask if Steve wanted him to just get out so he could find whatever he was searching for, he found himself unable to so much as utter a word. Crumbs from the pastry were beginning to scatter across his denim jeans. Steve's eyes were so bright, a laugh on his face as he gave a sharp, 'aha!' and snapped back up to a sitting position.

Finally able to breathe, Jonathan pressed himself back up against the seat. Handing the coffee cup back over, he turned to suck in a breath, and finally pulled the door open. Turning away, he grabbed the bottle of water and twisted the lid off. Gulping down a mouthful, he listened as Steve ripped open the paper bag he'd pulled out from under the seat. When he finally looked, Jonathan realised it was the same bundle he'd noticed just a few days before, peeking out from Steve's backpack. It looked a little battered around the edges but was still sealed shut.

'I meant to give you this on Saturday, but I didn't get a chance,' he was saying as way of explanation. 

He pulled out a magazine and presented it to Jonathan. Taking the plastic-wrapped gift, he stared at the cover. _Playboy_ , a picture of Madonna posing on the front, with text promising that she was nude inside. Turning red, Jonathan stared up at Steve's bright face, smiling brightly as he waited for Jonathan's reaction.

'What the fuck, Steve?' he snapped, shock and revulsion sweeping over him.

Great. _Great_. So clearly it was a whole fucking joke, and this was meant to be a goddamn punchline. This was fucking _wonderful_ \- 

Baffled, Steve plucked the magazine from Jonathan's fingers, flipped it over and studied the cover. With a loud cry, he shook his head and ripped open the paper bag again. He pulled out another magazine, this one with Joan Crawford emblazoned on the front, and shoved it at Jonathan's chest.

'No, no, this one's for you. Fuck, the Madonna one's for me.'

Holding the magazine up cautiously, Jonathan read the title. _Playgirl_. He'd heard about it, though he'd never seen a copy of it in Hawkins. Even if he had, he doubted he'd even dare to purchase a copy. The rumours about him had been flung around for years. He didn't need to go and confirm them by daring to buy a magazine filled with nude men. 

Red-faced, half-wishing that Steve had left him with a copy of _Playboy_ , he held the magazine like he was about to be burnt. It, too, was sealed in plastic.

'You, uh. You actually bought this?'

'Yeah! I got in Bloomington. They had a whole bunch of them. Not just magazines like yours, but ones like _Playboy_ , too, and I think something called _Hustler_. Oh, and one called _Leg Show_ , which is all, I dunno, stockings and shoes and stuff. They had a few really rude ones that I thought might be up your alley, but, uh...'

Steve was turning red. The freckles on his cheek had darkened and he was avoiding Jonathan's eye as he sat back in his seat and grabbed one of the pigs in a blanket. Taking a bite from it, he cleared his throat loudly and smacked the _Playboy_ on his knee.

'You bought me a nudie magazine?'

'Um. Well, I bought one for myself, too. I mean, _Playboy_ , not- not one- I mean, I didn't _buy_ one for me.'

'So you stole this?' Jonathan asked, waving the _Playgirl_ about.

'Stealing is such a nasty word.'

' _Steve_.'

'Okay! I bought it, okay?' he said, throwing a hand up and sending crumbs everywhere. 'I figured, we don't have anything like this in Hawkins, so- so yeah, I bought it for you. Really confused the woman at the counter when I came up and grabbed one of each. She probably thinks I'm super confused. But- but hey, go to town. Go and...'

Steve made a motion of jacking off. Now it was Jonathan's turn to sit there, beet red. He could feel the heat radiating off his face, his shoulders hunched up. This was... this was ridiculous. Taking a deep breath, he finally looked over the cover again. An article about... asses, he supposed? Erotica. And Joan Collins, bizarrely. 

'Do you want to look at it?'

'What?' Jonathan jerked his head up again, leaning back. All he wanted to do was eat the pastries they'd bought, not sit and look at porn with Steve next to him.

Or maybe he did. Maybe. But not on a Thursday afternoon, outside his workplace. 

Without thinking, he slammed the door shut, suddenly afraid somebody would come and see. Suddenly, Jonathan became aware of how small the car seemed to be, with its leather seats and lush upholstery.

'I dunno. You could show me what sort of guy you like. Here- ' 

Tearing open his copy of _Playboy_ , Steve pulled it out of the plastic wrapping and flicked it open. God, this was weirder than any dream Jonathan had had in recent memory. There was Steve, one leg outside the door as he flicked through a pornographic magazine, alternating between drinking his coffee and eating the greasy pastry. After a moment's hesitation in which Jonathan turned to look out of the car and gaze about to ensure nobody was watching them, he carefully slid his thumb under the tape that kept the plastic wrap closed and pulled out the magazine.

It was glossy. It was bright. It was the sort of thing boys his age kept hidden under mattresses and pillows (well, maybe not _this_ kind of magazine, but similar) and shit, he'd be so dead if his mom or Will found it. Rationally, he knew he shouldn't even be looking at it. If he looked at it, he'd be tempted to keep it, and Jonathan had never been very good at turning down a gift.

The pages fell open to the centrefold. Smacking a hand over his mouth, Jonathan stared at the naked man who had been photographed. It occurred to him suddenly he'd never actually seen a man nude before. Even in the locker room, when he did the required phys ed classes, he'd find a way to slip off into a cubical and wait until everyone was gone. The last thing he wanted was to get caught looking.

And yet there it was, a man preening for the camera (and his date of birth placed him a good ten years older than Jonathan), completely nude with his cock on display. Despite his best efforts, his eyes kept falling to it, his heart hammering in his chest. 

'Holy shit, he's hairy.'

The magazine was pulled from his lap by Steve. Snatching the magazine, he held it up, far closer than Jonathan wanted him to. Peering at it, his eyes squinting, Steve looked the image over. Turning the page, he gave a short laugh at the image that took up the whole centrefold. The model's cock was resting on his thigh as he gazed coquettishly up at the camera.

He didn't look like Steve. Not really.

Thankfully.

'Do you like hairy guys?' Steve asked.

Jonathan didn't really know. He'd never really thought about it. He liked guys, and that was it. It was why he'd struggled so much when Steve had asked what his type was. He'd never dated a guy, had never really even tried to think about what sort of guy he might try dating. Someone approachable. Someone goofy, maybe, who didn't take themselves so seriously, like Jonathan tended to do with himself. Someone confident within themselves, who could joke and laugh and liked to sing in the car.

His eyes fell to the top of Steve's shirt. A tuft of chest hair was poking out from the top of the buttons. Breathing in sharply, he swallowed and looked back at the magazine.

'I guess? You're the one who bought the magazine.'

Steve nodded and set his coffee cup down on the ground outside. Taking a hearty bite from the remains of his pastry, he passed the copy of _Playboy_ to Jonathan and flicked through the pages of _Playgirl_. Leaning back, utterly relaxed as though he were reading _Town and Country_ or _Cat Fancy_ , he began to flick through the magazine.

Holding the copy of _Playboy_ , Jonathan gurgled. Unsure what else to do, he began to flick through it, grateful to find a good portion of the magazine was just articles. He'd heard people say it a few times, that they read _Playboy_ for the articles. For a few moments, it was just the sound of the pages turning, Steve occasionally digging out another pastry to eat.

'Oh, he's good looking. What about this one?' Steve asked, holding up the magazine.

It was from the section about college guys. Steve was pointing to a blonde guy, his shaggy hair swept over his face. Unlike the centrefold, he was pale, smooth and creamy skin over his bare body. Most of the focus was on his ass, unlike Mr September who had everything all the way to Flordia on show.

Cheeks burning, Jonathan pushed his hair from his face and tugged the cap down low. Flicking through the magazine he was holding, he found a redhead. Magnificent locks were swept over her shoulder, over too-perky breasts that seemed stretched a little painfully. Holding it up, he tapped the picture for Steve to see, right on her naked thigh.

'Look, it's Cherry Blossom.'

'Oh my God, it's Cheryl, you heathen,' Steve shot at him. He was smiling, though, a little thoughtful as he jerked his chin at the magazine. 'Okay, hypothetically, if you had to pick a girl... who would it be? I'll choose a guy.'

Hesitating, Jonathan scratched behind his ear. He didn't find women completely unattractive. He knew Nancy was beautiful, and he'd always liked Audrey Hepburn. There had been something quite attractive about Molly Ringwald in _The Breakfast Club_ , too, though he'd been more interested in Emilio Estevez. Sucking on his lips, finally managing to pull the remaining pig in a blanket free, he began to flick through the pages. 

Beside him, Steve was doing the same thing. This memory was going to haunt him not just during the evening, but for months, Jonathan knew it. Him and Steve, looking at porn in the backseat of the Beemer, outside his work.

'Jesus Christ, Steve, I dunno,' he muttered, turning a page. 

Finally, he found an image. A woman, lazing back against car. She was wearing a thong and a crop top and, bizarrely, a pair of boots that Jonathan was sure he owned, the kind with yellow switching. Her braided hair was pulled over a shoulder while she looked over her shoulder at something in the distance.

'I dunno. Her, I guess?'

Steve peered over Jonathan's shoulder at the picture. 'That's an ad for corn dogs, Jon.'

'Well- ' Spluttering, Jonathan closed the magazine, rolled it up, and smacked it on Steve's chest. 'Christ, I told you. I'm _gay_. It's like you choosing a guy- '

'Him.'

Steve held up a picture. It was the same blonde guy as before, only he had a full frontal image. It wasn't the same size as the centrefold, just a single page, but the guy was laying on a bed, his cock on display. He was by no means as hairy as the centrefold, either, just a smattering of hair on his chest and above his cock. Face burning, Jonathan managed to rip his eyes off the picture of the guy and at Steve. Earnest, blushing Steve, who shut the magazine quickly and hurriedly went to finish his crueller, as though he hadn't just admitted that he'd found a guy in a dirty magazine hot.

Jonathan also pointedly ignored the way Steve had suddenly crossed his legs, an ankle resting on his knee.

Sitting in silence, Jonathan balled up the waxy paper his pastry had come in. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he grabbed the bottle of water and took a thirsty swig.

Seconds ticked by, which turned into minutes. Jonathan could feel his heart rate begin to slow, the tremble in his hands beginning to retreat.

'So, Will might be trying out for _Bye Bye Birdie_.'

'Oh. Neat. I always wanted to do theatre.'

Jonathan smacked his lips. Beside him, Steve cleared his throat again; at some point he'd untucked his shirt tugged it down over the waist of his shorts. He listened as Steve took a breath. The silence, while a little uncomfortable, wasn't entirely awkward. Something had just been shared between them, and Jonathan had yet to figure out what it meant. Cracking his knuckles, he felt a small tap on his forearm. Steve was offering him one of the cupcakes, vanilla frosting covering the side of a finger. Taking it, thanking him, he tried not to stare too hard when Steve licked his finger clean. It was purely innocuous. 

'September's pretty quiet for films,' he said, wanting to say _something_. 'But I have a math test in a few weeks and I've been struggling with this chapter...'

'I can help,' Steve said quickly, not needing to be prompted further.

Smiling to himself, Jonathan nodded, swiping the frosting off the cupcake with his finger. Sucking it clean, he looked out the open door. He was still blushing, but his cheeks were finally starting to cool. Someone somewhere was laughing loud enough to be heard even in the parking lot. 

The magazines were eventually packed back into the paper bag and they piled into the front seat. The sun had begun to set and the sky exploded with colour, magenta and orange and purple. Steve was still blushing and Tears For Fears wasn't blasted quite as loudly as it had been as the drive into town and out into the suburbs. As they pulled onto the street that led to his small, rundown home, Steve tapped the brim of the cap.

'You should keep it. It suits you.'

A lie if he'd ever heard one, and Jonathan pointedly said as such. With a shrug, Steve parked the car on the edge of the driveway.

'I bought it for you more than I bought it for me.'

It wasn't Jonathan's style. He'd never wear it out, and he was sure Steve knew that. Even so, he pushed it off his brow a little, seeing the light reflect off the cap and dance off the window and onto the roof of the car. Opening the door, he gave Steve a tender look. Before he could so much as stand, though, Steve gave a yelp and grabbed the back of Jonathan's jeans by the belt loop. Nearly hitting his head on the side of the car as he fell back, Jonathan swore loudly. The back of his shirt was suddenly pulled up and he felt the scratch of the magazine as it was shoved down the back of his jeans. His shirt was yanked back in place and a firm had patted him on the back.

'There. Enjoy your dirty mag.'

Whipping around, Jonathan gawked at Steve. The magazine was wedged down the back of his boxers, the pages cold against his skin. Steve was grinning at him, a vaguely lecherous look in his eyes. Turning to the house, Jonathan spotted his mother's Pinto parked behind his car. The porch was light on, despite the sun not having yet set, and he wondered what she was doing. Preparing dinner that wasn't laden with sugar, most likely.

'You ass.'

Steve was still looking at him. Turning back, Jonathan realised just how close he was. The sides of Steve's mouth had softened, the glimmer in his eyes becoming less intense. Jonathan could swear he saw Steve's eyes flicker down to his lips and back up. Heart hammering in his ears, Tears For Fears still playing in the background, he felt his tongue flick over his own lips, wetting them as he felt himself leaning in, somehow out of his own conscious control. It wasn't far. Just a few inches, really, close enough that he could see the pale freckles on the tip of Steve's nose, the stubble that lined his chin. And yeah, Steve was leaning over, too, and he was _definitely_ looking at his mouth now, right as his eyes were closing -

The brim of the cap smacked against Steve's brow. It was firm enough, startling enough, that Jonathan fell back, surprised. Whatever thread that had connected them snapped, and Steve blinked at him, watching, speechless as Jonathan willed his legs out of the car, pulling himself up and out.

'I'll, um. I'll see you on Saturday, yeah?' he said, stumbling backwards as he checked to make sure the magazine hadn't moved.

Steve nodded, echoing Jonathan's words. Saturday.

Turning, pulling the cap off as he hurried up to the house, Jonathan didn't even bother to look back and wave. If he looked back, he might head back up to the car, and if he did that, there was no guarantee he'd be able to stop himself. 

Racing inside, he barely did more than wave at Joyce when she stepped out of the kitchen to greet him. Yelling that he'd eaten and he'd be out soon, he hurled himself into his bedroom, shut the door behind him and pulled the magazine out. Throwing it at the bed, he sagged his weight against the door, the plastic buckle of the cap pressing against his chest as he stood there, sucking down air.


	14. xiv. 1515 - Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom

Joyce had found out. Jonathan wasn't sure how, but he was absolutely certain Will, being the little rat that he was, had told her. She approached him the following morning and asked in a quiet, careful voice as Jonathan poured his Cheerios into a bowl about how the previous afternoon had been. He'd spent several minutes after scurrying into his bedroom the night before trying to figure out just where he could hide the dirty magazine, desperately trying not to think about the almost-kiss, and had wound up flinging the damn cap across the room. He'd then hurriedly gone and picked it up, checking it for damage, before placing it atop his stereo.

At first, Joyce had tried to dodge around the real question. In turn, Jonathan was able to play the role of a moody teenager. Single syllable became his go-to, as he grunted and nodded about whether he'd had a nice time, if he'd eaten, if he'd done his homework the night before. It was going as well as could be expected until she'd cleared her throat, taken a drag of her cigarette, and finally asked the question he'd been dreading.

'So. How's Steve?'

'Oh my God, we're just friends! We're not dating!'

It wasn't until Jonathan had run off to grab his bag for school that he realised Joyce hadn't even asked that. Breathing in sharply, he tossed his bag on his shoulder, went to shove on the hat before deciding it really was a little too bold for him, and went to knock sharply on Will's bedroom door. Being a teenager had suddenly meant he was sleeping late and grabbing cold toast for breakfast. That morning, Jonathan couldn't quite bring himself to care, though on other days he'd gently tease him. As he left the house, his cheeks burning and Joyce watching him with an amused, if slightly baffled smile, he shooed Will out of the house and tried not to churn over the way he'd reacted.

Once again, the topic of the kiss (and now the almost-kiss) was danced around on the weekend. Steve arrived in time for the last session of Jonathan's shift ( _American Ninja_ , a film that Jonathan never wanted to see again as long as he lived), and the two worked on his homework. All the while, he tried not to convince himself that Steve was sitting just a little closer than normal, their knees touching as they hunched over the side of the desk while Jonathan kept one eye on the reel. He was definitely certain that Steve didn't need to toss an arm over the back of his chair, as casual as ever, but it likely meant nothing. 

The following weekend was much the same. The movie was another one that was on its last legs ( _Compromising Positions_ , a film that had once interested Jonathan but now he couldn't stand it), and Steve scooted in close to help Jonathan with his homework. While he was fairly sure that Doug was beginning to get tired of Steve hanging around the projection room, there had yet to be any complaints. Steve's ticket was always paid for, and the room was always left as tidy as it ever was, sometimes even neater than when he arrived. Anneliese still huffed and sighed when she saw Steve waiting outside, waiting for Jonathan, with a finger twisting around her braid.

On the day of Steve's birthday, Jonathan managed to get the afternoon off work. He'd cornered Morrison, asked politely, and when there was a hesitation, he pointed out all the shifts he'd covered for him over the years and had never once asked for a favour in return. Morrison groaned and rolled his eyes, but he agreed eventually. After the noon film finished, Jonathan raced out to his car and did a quick check to ensure he had packed everything he'd intended to bring.

Although Jonathan had driven past Steve's home a few times, he'd never entered it. The wide house with the bright red doors had always intimidated him. Nobody needed to live in a house that big, let alone a family with a single child. It always seemed so grandiose, and at the same time so utterly empty. That Saturday in late September was no different. As Jonathan parked in front of the house, a little concerned that his beat-up Galaxie may somehow taint the Harrington home, it occurred to him that that house seemed strangely still.

The door seemed more red in person. It seemed utterly garish, compared to the beige walls. Peering into the garage off to the side with the open door, he spotted Steve's car parked inside. Nothing else was parked beside it besides a push bike and a lawn mower. Cracking his knuckles, adjusting the bag on his shoulder, he knocked and waited. The seconds ticked by before he noticed the doorbell. 

As he pushed it, a sweet chime playing inside, he heard a thump on the other side. There were a few heavy steps, a loud curse, and the door flung open. Steve was standing there, looking a little dazed. Music was blaring from somewhere deep in the house. It sounded like Madonna.

'Hi. Happy birthday. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?'

Steve looked stunned. He took a few moments to drink Jonathan in (and Lord, Jonathan had never quite understood the meaning of that before, but he was suddenly acutely aware of how intensely Steve was looking at him), before he nodded then quickly shook his head.

'No. No, not at all, I was just- I was just- don't you have work?'

Shaking his head, Jonathan tried to peer past Steve into the gargantuan entry hall, but couldn't quite see anything more than a staircase. There were no balloons, no streamers, nothing to indicate that it was Steve's birthday at all. Even though Jonathan had managed to avoid the biggest of birthday celebrations after he turned thirteen, his mother would still manage to wrangle a party hat on his head and force him to pose for a photo for the family album. There wasn't a speck of confetti or a candle to be seen from where Jonathan stood.

'I know we said dinner, but I took the afternoon off... I'm really not interrupting, am I?'

'My parents are away,' Steve blurted out before Jonathan could finish, talking over him. His mouth slammed shut and he visibly swallowed. Coughing, he let go over the door and rubbed the back of his neck. 'They left on Wednesday. I... I think they forgot. Maybe. I mean, they probably didn't forget, they just probably assumed I'd like to be alone. Nineteen isn't that big a deal, anyway, but... here, come in.'

Opening the door wider, he stepped back to let Jonathan in. Taking a step inside, suddenly feeling incredibly small and badly dressed, he twisted the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder. Everything felt large. The ceilings were high, the painting over a dresser look enormous, the mat beneath his feet too lush. He heard the heavy door click behind him as Steve shut it. Even that seemed too big a noise for a house in a suburban street.

'Do your parents leave often?'

'Often enough that they forgot to check the date. Hey, what's this?'

Steve spoke fast; Jonathan could pick up when someone wanted to deflect from a subject. As Steve walked past, he grabbed a poster that had been sticking out from the back of Jonathan's bag, tied neatly with a gold ribbon. Jonathan went to grab it, but Steve was already turning it about, sticking his eye down one end to try and figure it out.

'Uh- it's a birthday present. Sort of. For you. It's nothing special, I have something bet- '

It didn't matter. Steve was already off, eyes lighting up as he ran somewhere towards the back of the house. Giving a small cry for him to wait up, he had a proper present for him in his bag, Jonathan followed him in a light jog, trailing behind to find out where the music was coming from. Steve disappeared through a set of sliding doors and the music was cut off suddenly. Taking the two steps down to the sunken living room, Jonathan gazed about. More lush carpet, this time a soft cream. Red walls that matched the front door, and a TV far bigger than Jonathan had ever seen. It had to be at least twenty-four inches, maybe twenty-six. 

Steve was falling back into an armchair, a strange, polished leather, his hand pulling the ribbon off. Unfurling it, he took in the poster for _Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom_ , which had once hung up in the cinema. Flinching, Jonathan poked around until he sat precariously on the edge of the couch that was adjacent to him, unsure if he was even allowed to. The coffee table sat between them.

'It's stupid, I know. But I found it when I was cleaning up the other day, and I thought you might like it. It was meant to be sent back, but someone had stashed it out the back and it had started collecting dust.'

'This is so cool!' Steve cried out, brazen and honest. 'Thanks, Jonathan, this is awesome. I bet I could get it framed.'

'I have something else for you, too. Here- '

Opening up his bag, he pulled out a more traditionally wrapped gift. Passing it over, he didn't dare meet Steve's eye. He'd never been particularly good at wrapping gifts, and it was a little obvious. He'd tried to curl the ribbon, but had wound up nearly slicing the skin of his thumb off. It was still wrapped in a bandage, the end fraying a little from trying to manipulate the reels that morning.

Curious, yet clearly excited, Steve didn't appear to mind the sloppy wrapping. He tore it right off, nearly bouncing in his seat. The first thing he pulled out was a small bound book, several pages long. Cocking his head to the side, he eyed Jonathan, confused.

'That was also meant to be sent back to the distribution company. It's the projectionist notes for the movie. How it's meant to be shown, what trailers are meant to go with it, technical details. That sort of thing. Every movie comes with one, but we're not meant to keep them. It's more of a collectors piece, I guess? Doug could get into a lot of shit, so don't tell anyone, but I thought you might get a kick out of it.'

It really wasn't anything special. Jonathan thought it actually seemed a little weak now, having gotten Steve two free presents from his work. But as Steve turned it over, flicking through the pages eagerly (and yeah, he supposed it was pretty cool, with a letter from Steven Spielberg at the start, though every cinema in the US received the same thing), he realised that maybe he'd made the right choice. 

As Steve read it over, Jonathan noticed the second half of the gift had fallen out. Leaning over, he scooped up the second box and set it on the arm rest of the chair Steve had curled up on. Catching his attention, Steve eyeballed the box. Picking it up, he studied it and looked back at Jonathan.

'Whisky granite balls?' he repeated slowly.

'To stop you from rattling your fucking ice all the time.'

Steve met Jonathan's eye. For a long moment, Jonathan held his breath. Perhaps the joke had been too harsh. Maybe it would go over Steve's head.

Then, with a sharp inhale, Steve began to laugh. He fell back against the armchair, the pages smacking his chest as he rocked side to side. He shook the box, deliberately trying to rattle it, his laughter filling the room as loudly as the music had beforehand. Far more subdued, Jonathan snorted, hunching over as he smiled to himself. Swinging himself up, Steve pulled himself to his feet.

'Took you fucking long enough. God, man, you have the patience of a saint. Wait here, I'll chuck them in the freezer now.'

As he headed past, he ruffled a hand through Jonathan's hair. He was wiping tears from his eyes as he left, a skip in his step as he leapt over the discarded wrapping paper. Far too late, Jonathan took in what he said, realising quietly that Steve had been slurping his drinks deliberately. Rolling his eyes, he flopped his head back on the top of the couch and tossed a hand over his face. God, he was an asshole.

There was the rhythmic pattering of socked feet on the wooden floors that grew closer and closer. Bracing himself, his big brother instincts kicking in, there was a solid _thunk_ behind him, before the couch lurched and he felt Steve's foot smack into the back of his head. The couch lurched and the cushions beside him sunk down as Steve flipped over the back of it and landed heavily on his side. Jonathan's lap was filled with Steve's legs. Swearing in shock, he smacked Steve's ankle, who was still laughing and grinning up at him.

For a moment, it hit him just how lonely Steve had to be. It was his birthday. An unimportant age or not, it was quite sad that his parents weren't even there to celebrate. From the offhanded way Steve had shrugged it off, too, it seemed as though this likely wasn't the first time he'd been ignored by his folks on this particular day. What also occurred to Jonathan and had been knocking around in his brain was that he didn't have anybody else here. Steve didn't seem to be in a particular rush to get him out of the house, nor did he seem like he'd been getting ready to go anywhere. His shirt was unironed and his hair, typically swept high on top of his head, was hanging loose over his brow in soft curls. The sides that had been shaved had started to grow out, and small tufts were sticking out from behind his ears.

In all the years that Jonathan had known Steve (well, known _of_ Steve, their social standing so vast and different that Jonathan couldn't even imagine Steve paying attention to him), he had thought him to be cool and popular. There didn't seem to be anything missing from his life. He had a swish car, he was good at sports, everything he owned seemed unreasonably expensive. And yet here he was, utterly alone on his birthday. While the Byers had never had much money, Jonathan had never felt richer than he did then. Joyce and Will would never dare to forget his birthday, just as he'd never forget theirs.

Jonathan suddenly wished he'd brought a cake. Steve seemed to have an awful sweet tooth, if their trip had been anything to go by, and Jonathan had assumed that morning that his parents would have gotten him one. He wondered if he could ask Joyce to bake her always-loved red velvet cake, before realising that she likely didn't have time. Even so, he had brought something. Letting out a small, 'oh!', he reached over to where his bag sat on the carpet. Steve's feet were still crossed on his lap as he lazily scratched an ankle with a toe and stretched back himself to grab the presents Jonathan had bought for him.

'Here,' he said, tossing Steve a theatre-sized box of Junior Mints. 'Don't eat the whole damn thing while we watch this.'

It had been by pure chance that Jonathan had managed to rent _Temple of Doom_. It was meant to be on hold for another customer, but they had been late in coming to pick it up and Jonathan had finally needled the clerk and pointed out he'd let them slip into more than one R-rated movie at the cinema. He wasn't above using that card when he needed to.

'You probably already have, like, five copies of it, but- '

'Holy shit- '

Without expecting it, Steve was suddenly up and lunging towards the case. With a whoop, he bounded up and off, legs akimbo as he leapt towards the TV. Jonathan watched him, wondering how on Earth he'd once considered Steve Harrington as cool. He seemed to be a bigger dork than Jonathan and Will combined.

He'd also once thought of him as having everything in the world, but now it seemed like he had nothing of importance.

With the VHS in, Steve bounced back, crashing into the couch. Despite the fact that the couch could easily fit two people between them, he slid right in beside Jonathan. Cracking open the box of chocolates, Steve tucked his legs underneath him, pressing right up against him. Grabbing Jonathan's arm, Steve pulled it up and over his shoulders, until his head was resting upon his chest.

This was... odd. Friends didn't sit like this. Jonathan didn't have many, but he knew that for a fact.

Eyes trained on the TV, Jonathan swallowed hard, feeling Steve's hair tickling his chin. Jonathan was so much shorter than Steve, which meant he had to curl up, knees tucked underneath him. And yet it felt perfectly wonderful and natural, one of Steve's hands resting on his stomach as he slowly popped a candy into his mouth, noisily sucking the chocolate off it. The box was offered to him, but Jonathan shook his head.

'Can I get you something to eat? Drink?' Steve suddenly asked.

Despite being a little thirsty, Jonathan just shook his head. He was a little afraid that if he said yes, Steve wouldn't return to the spot he'd nestled for himself. As warm and wonderful as it was, though, Jonathan had utterly no idea what to do with his arm. Nancy hadn't really been a cuddler and he wasn't exactly overflowing with experience.

It was a good twenty minutes into the movie when he remembered how Steve had liked it when he'd run his fingers through his hair while watching _Breakfast at Tiffany's_. It had been months ago. Over and over Jonathan played the memory, using it as fuel to fire that kept him warm and up at night. Yet somehow he'd forgotten that simple detail, of Steve drawing his hand back down to his temple, simply so Jonathan would resume stroking his cheek and brow. With a careful hand, elbow digging into the cushion behind them, he began to cautiously run his fingers across Steve's temple. When there was no immediate argument, no protest or sudden shifting away, his fingers went higher. Up to the mop of hair that had once swept over Steve's entire scalp like a wave of tawny locks. Instead of hairspray, it was clean, smelling faintly of citrus and floral arrangements. 

With a deep breath, Steve settled in further. His cheek rested upon the top of Jonathan's chest, his entire weight pressed against him. His fingers stretched out, thumb underneath Steve's earlobe, his index and middle finger catching a lock of hair and tugging it down. His pinky swept down, along the grain of stubble and to the corner of Steve's lips.

At some point, Steve had stopped eating the candy. The box, half-empty, sat upon Jonathan's thigh. Breathing in deeply, he tried to watch as Indy was forced to drink the potion. He felt a little like him right then, strapped down and succumbing to a force greater than anything he knew. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to settle down, to focus on the movie. Steve just happened to be the kind of guy who had no concept of personal space, that was it.

This wasn't Jonathan's usual type of movie. He preferred the slightly abstract, the arthouse and experimental type, where the director tried new concepts to present ideas. He tried to capture that idea in his photography, though he wasn't sure it came across so well. But, as Steve curled up around him, one hand curled around his shirt as he watched Indiana Jones save the day again, Jonathan decided he could begin to enjoy this, if watched with the right people. The right person. Strangely, he didn't even mind when his arm began to grow numb

All too soon, the credits began to roll. It felt as though Jonathan hadn't even watched the movie. His fingers continued to dance over Steve's cheek as he felt him sigh, his face rubbing against Jonathan's chest. With a yawn, he pushed himself up, rolling his shoulders up and back as Jonathan stretched his arm above his head, feeling the blood return to it. Steve heaved himself up and went to switch the movie off, rewinding it. There were crease marks on his cheek. The sight of them made something in Jonathan's chest flutter, like it was lipstick upon a collar.

'You probably need to get going, huh?'

Glancing at his watch, Jonathan let out a small, regretful noise. He didn't want to. Especially when it meant he had to leave Steve alone in this vast, empty house on his birthday of all days. But there was miles of homework to do, and Joyce was still a little funny about having both of her sons out of the house at night. Will was staying over at Dustin's as they rehearsed lines for the musical. But here was Steve, so utterly alone on a day nobody ever should be. Even Jonathan knew that.

As though sensing his uncertainty, Steve ejected the tape and put it back in its case. He handed it over with a clap to Jonathan's upper arm, a forced and slightly stiff smile that didn't reach his eyes crossing his face.

'Hey. Don't stress, pal, I've got this assignment due first thing this week. Can you believe they give you assignments literally the first day of college? _Ugh_.' Steve rounded the table and kept talking, shrugging as he went and filled the space between them with noise. 'Anyway, my sister was gonna call, too. She likes to put the phone to her stomach and have me talk to the baby. And I might go into the city afterwards, if I get my assignment done. C'mon, I'll walk you out so you don't look so damn guilty.'

Picking up Jonathan's messenger bag, Steve continued to prattle on as he walked Jonathan back to the great, red doors. There did seem to be a few classmates that he mentioned by name that he appeared to be friends with - or at least _friendly_. It wasn't clear if Steve saw them after class at all, but it was nice to hear that Steve had some people at college he could chat with.

As the door opened, they were greeted with the golden hour. The sky was filled with rich, yellow tones as the sun hung above the horizon, not yet succumbing to sunset. Gazing up the sky, Jonathan drank it in. Beside him, he heard Steve whistle. The sky matched the colour of Steve's eyes, when the light hit just right and the yellow in the green undertones was brought out.

Utterly compelled, he took his bag when Steve passed it over and let the words spill from his mouth.

'Do you mind if I take your photo? I understand if you have a, uh, _thing_ about it, but- if it's okay...'

A whisper of uncertainty crossed Steve's face. Jonathan watched quietly as he pursed his lips, turning it over, before he nodded. 

With a burst of glee, Jonathan hurried down the winding path to his car. Digging his keys out of his bag, he stuck them into the trunk and tossed it inside. Pulling out his camera, he unzipped it from the case and carefully hung the strap around his neck. Steve was taking his time following, his hands deep in his pockets as he looked the camera over.

'Is that the one I bought you?'

Jonathan looked at the Pentax camera. Nodding, he felt a lick of the same awkwardness that Steve was no doubt reliving himself.

'The one you and Nancy gave me for Christmas? Yeah.'

'The one I bought,' Steve repeated. 'It was expensive. She couldn't afford it on her own. It's fine, it's nothing. I broke it, I should get you a new one.'

There was a bite to Steve's tone that Jonathan wasn't used to hearing. While he wanted to stand up for Nancy, ask Steve to back down, he didn't much feel like launching into an argument. And, he supposed, Steve probably had a right to vent a little. So, he smiled and lifted the camera to his eye.

'It's great. I love it. Nobody's ever given me something like this before.'

With that, he snapped a photo. The expression in Steve's face was caught just in time. The flutter of delight at the compliment, the wistful smile that hung on the edge of his lips. Even the minute linger of hurt that clung to his eyes looked beautiful; Jonathan could only begin to guess why. Everything that had happened with Nancy, the fact he was alone on his birthday. Stepping around in an arc so he was facing the golden sky, Jonathan kept Steve's face in the view finder.

'Am I meant to pose, or- '

'No. No, you're perfect just the way you are.'

The blush that filled Steve's cheeks wouldn't come through exactly in the black-and-white prints that Jonathan would later develop, but the suggestion of ruddiness would. His head was bowed, a shy smile on his lips as he raised a finger to his mouth. With the tree hanging overhead that case great, long shadows over the ground, it allowed the glowing sky to become even brighter. Kneeling down, Jonathan snapped another photo, followed quickly by a third. Steve kept looking away, his head turned away and eyes partly closed, his lashes brushing over his cheeks.

Jonathan didn't take quite as many as he wanted to. People could be funny about having their portrait taken, which was why he preferred to take candid shots. There was something quite private about these photos, though. They were a snapshot in time, revealing a side to Steve that so many people never saw.

When he stood, one knee damp from the grass, several more photos had been taken. Steve scratched his cheek, clearly unsure where to look, until Jonathan removed the strap from around his neck.

'So, I'll see you next week?' he asked.

Jonathan nodded. 'There's a Chuck Norris film being released next week. I was hoping to do this Disney movie, but you might like the Chuck Norris one. It's about... fighting or something. It's an action movie. You know what Chuck Norris movies are like.'

Snorting, Steve shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. 

'I'll like whatever you show. I like our weekend hangout.'

And there it was again, that fluttering in his chest. With a shaky nod, Jonathan hesitated. He took a step forward, the golden hues in the sky growing darker. The sun wasn't yet about to set, but it would grow dark soon. Steve lifted his eyes, gazing up at him through his lashes. Running his tongue over his lips, Jonathan turned the camera over in his hands. He wanted to say something. Anything. An excuse to stay just a little longer.

'I'll see you on Saturday, then. I'll let you know how my assignment goes.'

'Yeah. I guess.' Jonathan swallowed hard. 'Take it easy, Steve.'

'That's my line. Stop stealing it.'

With a shrug, chuckling, Jonathan rocked back and forth. Steve was smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Smacking his lips noisily, he took a breath and swung back on his heels. He cleared his throat, gave a small, 'well...' and lifted a hand in a wave. Taking his cue, Jonathan nodded and started back to his car reluctantly. 

Placing the camera back in its case, he zipped it up, set it in the milk crate he had stowed in the trunk precisely for this purpose, and closed it. Rounding to the door, he looked back to where Steve was walking up to his house.

He wouldn't be able to say what compelled him. There was nothing about this moment that made it all that special compared to other moments. Maybe it was because it was Steve's birthday, or that he'd allowed Jonathan to spontaneously photograph him. Maybe it was the sky or Indy or the grass, wet from where the sprinklers had rained down. Maybe it was none of that or all of it.

Shoving his car keys in his back pocket, Jonathan started back up the lawn. He couldn't recall shouting Steve's name, but Steve turned all the same, chin lifted in acknowledgement and brows raised. Somehow, Jonathan's feet carried him the last few feet, and then Steve was _there_ , so close and reaching out, as though he knew it was coming. It was the sort of thing that should have happened behind the red door, where neighbours couldn't see, but Jonathan didn't think about that until later. Only that Steve's mouth was on his, and he still tasted of mint and chocolate, and his hand was cupping the back of his head, palm tickling with the short hair, and Steve was grabbing his shirt and holding him in.

Heart rattling in his chest, Jonathan rocked onto his toes to close the height distance. As though taking the opportunity, Steve wrapped an arm around him, keeping him in as he followed Jonathan's mouth. There was a soft sight, a whimper as Jonathan's teeth grazed his lower lip, partly on accident. When he lowered back onto his heels, breaking the kiss, Steve was shivering.

Steve's breath was shaky. Jonathan swore his own was, as well.

'I'll- I'll see you Saturday, then,' Steve managed to utter.

Jonathan nodded. His lips tasted of candy.

When he got back to the car, his breathing mostly under control but a lingering tremor in his hands, he swore he could hear the golden sky singing.


	15. xv. 0930 - To Kill A Mockingbird

'This is so _boring_ ,' Nancy groaned, falling back into her seat as the auditorium filled up.

Looking over at her, Jonathan raised an eyebrow. He was flicking through his math homework, eyeing the notes he'd made with Steve the weekend just gone as they'd sat in the tiny projection room. He could barely even remember what movie they had been watching. The only thing he could recall now, as he stared at the notes that may have made sense then, was how close Steve had been. He always sat next to Jonathan now, their shoulders touching, his arm sometimes resting on the back of his chair. Their knees would touch, and Steve would smile at him, unafraid to wear his glasses around him now. Jonathan could count the freckles on his cheek and nose, and Steve would call him Jon, in that tone of voice that made the nickname Jonathan usually hated palatable.

They hadn't kissed again. Jonathan wanted to, he ached to. Steve would sit close to him, and Jonathan swore his lips would catch fire if he waited a minute more. He'd never been so hyperaware of his mouth as he was in those moments. The nerves in his lips felt like they were humming, and his tongue would flick out over them, and _oh_ , how he longed to close the gap between them. Any time Jonathan began to entertain the notion, though, something would happen. The reel would need to be changed, his shift would end, Steve rather unceremoniously sneezed right in his face one time and gave a look so horrified that all was forgiven.

The week felt so incredibly long. Jonathan, while not liking school much more than the average student, had never really detested it. But as he moved from class to class, he suddenly began to understand why his classmates, those in relationships who liked to neck behind the bleachers during lunch, dragged their feet so much and verbally groaned about the weekend being so far away. That wasn't to say he and Steve were in a relationship. In fact, Jonathan was fairly sure they weren't. But he was pretty sure friends didn't kiss like they had; he was also quite sure that straight guys didn't kiss like that, and was far as he knew, Steve was pretty darn straight.

Though he _had_ kissed Jonathan. Twice now, in fact. And he'd also been quite quick to point out which guy he'd found attractive in that nudie magazine. 

It was a magazine that Jonathan kept under his mattress and had pulled out a few times now, while he'd also pulled something else out. It was Steve, resting his head on his lap and chest, the warmth of his breath through Jonathan's clothes that he thought of as he turned the pages. It was the catch in Steve's voice when he'd pointed to the picture in the magazine, and the way he'd awkwardly crossed his legs that he remembered. It was the touch of his tongue against Jonathan's own, along with the way he'd grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer that he played in his head. Jonathan pictured Steve's face on the centrefold's body as he bit his pillow and curled up around himself, spilling lube on his sheets as he groped blindly for a tissue before he came.

Yeah, compared to his weekends, in those few hours when he and Steve would sit in a cramped room, adding fuel to Jonathan's fantasies, this was boring.

Not that he could tell Nancy that. She was beginning to get suspicious, with his excuses about what he was doing on the weekend and how he'd quickly change the subject if it ever got too close to his personal life. They had retained their friendship well after the breakup, partly in fact, Jonathan believed, because neither of them were at fault. So many former couples at school would pin the blame on the other, and it all seemed so childish. Jonathan supposed Nancy had every reason in the world to hate him, but she had looked past it and they'd stayed close. That didn't mean he still wanted to reveal to her that he and Steve were... _friendly_. He didn't think she would take it all that well. 

'Would you rather be sitting in class and listening to everyone take turns reading out paragraphs?' Jonathan asked as the seats around them began to fill up.

'No,' Nancy huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest and slumped in her seat. 'This is just... we saw this twice last year. And three times in our sophomore year.'

She wasn't wrong. It felt a bit of a cop-out, to be working on the Harper Lee novel in their final year of school. Jonathan supposed he did appreciate they were doing a novel-to-film adaptation analysis, and it did give him a break from the rest of the more academic pursuits his other classes were undertaking. But he'd have preferred to be studying something more in depth, something that actually required him to tackle a new topic. Even the gentle, yet quietly powerful, approach of Atticus Finch had lost some of its magnificence after the umpteenth time of watching it.

'Just take this as a free period, Nancy,' Jonathan drawled, rubbing his chin as he turned back to his homework.

Looking over his shoulder, Nancy watched what he was doing. It made him pause, his thumb pressing into the side of his pen as he quickly scanned the page for any sign of Steve's telltale handwriting. Finding nothing to alert Nancy to just who his tutor was, he took a breath and continued on. 

'I heard Steve's doing math at community college. Math or... something.'

Jonathan's throat clicked as he swallowed. Taking that as a cue that he ought to close his book, he slid it into his bag just as the lights dimmed. While there were classmates in the row in front of them, nobody had taken to sitting beside them. The freak and the uptight princess. What a pair they made.

'Huh. I didn't know he liked math,' Jonathan lied.

'He'd go on about it sometimes. Said his grades were good. I was never sure if I believed him.'

Biting his tongue, Jonathan tried to not immediately jump to conclusions. Over the time they had gotten to know one another (which, funnily enough, was far better than when they were dating), Jonathan had begun to learn that Nancy's view of the world around her could be quite narrow. She reminded him of his mother in some ways. She was prone to bouts of anxiety, a deep-boned kind that she could never quite shake. The loss of Barb had struck her to her core, and had left her rattled and off-balance. Jonathan didn't think she'd ever quite found her footing afterwards. She'd become quick to judge, as though she were protecting herself from the opinions of others. The other girls would whisper behind their hands and eyeball her in a way Jonathan couldn't quite figure out.

'Who told you he was going to college?' Jonathan asked, hoping he sounded casual.

'Community college. And Mike. He found out from... Dustin, I think. Or El. Apparently he's tutoring some kids. I don't- _ugh_ , do you think any of the teachers will notice if I sneak out?'

'They're doing toilet checks,' Jonathan drawled as he settled back in the chair. 'Just get comfortable. I won't snitch if you fall asleep.'

It was in that moment that Jonathan realised he desperately wanted to tell Nancy about Steve. He actually did. He yearned to tell someone - _anyone_. And he ached to share this secret with her, even if he knew he couldn't and that it would potentially shatter their friendship if he did. There was something building inside of him, something he was starting to share with Steve, and he had no way of measuring it. If he divulged one part, he was afraid the rest would come out.

And there it was. _Come out_. Jonathan had only come out to a handful of people, the total of which he could count on one hand. Besides that, he still wasn't sure what Steve's deal was. He wasn't sure if Steve even knew what was happening. Hell, he didn't even know if Steve was attracted to guys in general, or if he just happened to be a blip in Steve's otherwise heterosexual radar. Jonathan wished he could go and ask Nancy, but he didn't even know how he'd start to phrase that question. All he could do was bite his tongue and try to figure it out for himself.

Their senior year was leading to a lot of strange changes and discoveries, though. It was like puberty all over again. Ongoing questions about Steve's sexuality and the nature of their relationship was by far the least worrisome. Not only did he look forward to seeing Steve on the weekend, he looked forward to his shifts at work as a momentary reprieve from the anxieties of school and the pressure of homework and assignments and the college applications he had to fill out. Nancy had been nagging him about not hedging all his bets on one place, her own worries about not getting into her college of choice (not that Jonathan was entirely sure which one she had applied to) beginning to spill over.

It was difficult to not talk about Steve with her. While there had been some tension after their breakup, despite the two of them still remaining friends, Jonathan had learnt to be more honest with her. Revealing his secret back in February had created an even deeper bond between them, and biting his tongue about Steve was leading to a gnawing guilt.

He had no idea how to even broach the subject further, though. Sitting there in the auditorium with the rest of students who were taking the same English class, Jonathan chewed on his thumbnail and tried to keep his eyes on the projected screen. The sound was off and the tape they were playing was old. Seeing the movie so badly played grated on him, but there was no point in saying anything. Beside him, Nancy kept huffing and sighing as she squinted at her homework in the dim light. She was struggling with a few subjects, something that had stunned him to learn until he realised she was deliberately procrastinating out of perfectionism. 

His mind wandered. While he knew he ought to be paying attention to the film, Jonathan's thoughts turned to Steve. It was a Wednesday; Steve would be at his father's office, filing paperwork and doing coffee runs, given what he'd said his work entailed. Maybe he'd be at lunch, catching up on his homework for college. Maybe he'd even be thinking of Jonathan.

At that thought, his cheeks turned a little pink. It was a good thing the lights were off. Being as pale as he was, every shift in colour on his skin was always magnified. It was difficult to focus on Scout and the benefits of not judging a person by their outward appearance when his mind was still stuck somewhere between Audrey Hepburn and Harrison Ford, with the taste of Steve's tongue on his lips and the feel of his body against Jonathan's own.

Rubbing his hands on his thighs, Jonathan glanced over at Nancy and cautiously shifted so a knee was hitched up, legs very slightly crossed. He just had to be careful - it wouldn't do to become suddenly distracted. 

As the bell rang to signal the end of the period, Jonathan couldn't quite say what part they had gotten up to in the movie. The only thing he knew for sure was that his jeans were uncomfortably tight and that Nancy, who had taken to muttering beside him about how goddamn boring and difficult geography was, hadn't gotten any further into her assignment. That, at least, helped his erection to subside dramatically.


	16. xvi. intermission c

The fall break couldn't come soon enough. Jonathan had originally been envisioning working for the entire break, and Doug had even offered him work everyday once he'd voiced that thought, but his teachers had lumped him with assignments that were all due within the first week back. While he did pick up a few extra shifts here and there, most of the time off was dedicated to getting the essays, reports and other assignments completed. The idea of taking it easy over a mid-semester break wasn't exactly in the Byers vocabulary, with Will, too, working at Melvald's for a few days; the novelty of working had started to wear off for him, but he liked the extra money. Jonathan was also sure that Joyce liked being able to keep an eye on him without needing to be so overt about it.

One thing he had been hoping for beyond everything was to spend time with Steve. They had the same period of time off. Funnily enough, Jonathan found himself looking for excuses, suggesting Steve help him with his math homework and that he could help Steve with his essays in turn. Steve had brought his sown class obligations up a couple of times, saying that while he loved anthropology and the other humanities subjects he had to take, he was struggling with the essay component. Jonathan had proposed more than once to take a look at it all, but Steve had yet to take him up on the offer. Rationally he knew friends didn't need to search for excuses to spend time with one another, but Jonathan still struggled to ask if Steve wanted to hang out. Steve had always been so far out of his reach, and the idea of just being able to call and ask if he wanted to hang out was utterly foreign.

As it turned out, though, both of them were busy over the break, their work rosters clashing and homework taking up what time was left over. It was a pity as there were quite a few films at the cinema he was sure Steve would have liked. _Commando_ , which everybody loved but Jonathan honestly found to just be nothing more than utter hyper-masculinity trash. And then there was _Sweet Dreams_ , a biography about Patsy Cline. He didn't know if Steve liked country music, but he did seem to love music as a whole. At first Jonathan hadn't been paying all that much attention to the film (though he did really like the lead actress), but his attention was piqued when he actually started listening to the music.

He wound up picking up a copy of the soundtrack after work one day. It definitely wasn't his type of music, and once Joyce complimented him for it he knew he'd never hear the end of it. But something about the lyrics made his heart patter hard, a sweet melancholy sweeping over him. Crazy, so fall of emotion and despondency, resonated with him in a way that The Clash never quite had. It hit a nerve that had him stop what he was doing and listen to each sorrowful note. And then there was I Fall To Pieces. The lyrics hit him like a sucker punch, unexpected and shocking. He added it to a mix tape that he'd begun to make, all songs that made him think of Steve, and slid it back into his drawer.

It was after the umpteenth showing of _The Journey of Natty Gann_ that Jonathan finally decided to pay Steve another visit. School would be starting up again on Monday, and they had barely spoken. Steve had called him twice, Jonathan had returned the favour once. There were three days of his break left. While he was meant to be picking Will up from Dustin's after work, the two of them rehearsing lines again for _Bye Bye Birdie_ , he found himself wanting to do something for himself instead. However, he did take the time to stop by to ask if Will could get their mom to do it. He hated flaking on his responsibilities, but he was reasoned that he wasn't completely blowing his family off.

God, he really was turning into their mother.

The Harrington home was quiet and still once again when Jonathan pulled up in front of it. Jonathan knew the polite thing to do would have been to call ahead, but having never really had much a social life, such requirements never occurred to him until too late. Sitting in the car, the mid-October air chilling him, he drummed his fingers on the wheel. Rebel Rebel was playing on the car, I Fall To Pieces was playing in his mind, and he was pretty sure Creedence Clearwater Revival was blasting from a house down the street while his car stalled as he tried to find a reason to walk up and knock on the door. With no excuse forthcoming, Jonathan finally killed the engine and had to accept that he didn't truly need an excuse to visit a friend.

There were times, much like now, when that thought would creep back up to him unexpectedly. Steve Harrington was his friend. Not only that, but Steve Harrington was his friend and they had kissed- twice now!- and Steve Harrington had bought him a dirty magazine and now he was knocking on Steve Harrington's door, just because he could, just because he was in the area and wanted to visit him and those red doors were stupidly large, and-

And Steve Harrington looked like _awful_. 

He looked pretty damn shit, actually. Jonathan couldn't recall the last time he'd seen Steve look like that. His hair, the front having grown long enough to sweep over his brow in his usual quiff, was hanging loose over his eyes. His eyes were red, rimmed with dark circles as though he hadn't been sleeping. The house, large and vast, was unnaturally quiet, as Steve tugged the sleeves of his unwashed, green sweater over his hands.

'Steve- '

'I thought you were the damn Mormons again,' he muttered, swiping a hand over his face.

Jonathan didn't wait to be invited in. Pushing the door open further, he stepped across the threshold and placed a gentle hand on Steve's cheek. Confusion rained down as he tried to understand what was happening, his mind reeling with possibilities. Steve visibly flinched and stepped back, though he didn't shove Jonathan out.

'What happened? Is- is it your parents?'

'No,' Steve said immediately shaking his head. Then, 'yes? No. No, not really. They're at work. I- I'm fine, I promise.'

Turning away, Jonathan watched as Steve hugged himself and wandered into the depths of the house. He didn't seem obviously injured. There was no open wound, begging for his attention, no limp or clear nursing of a limb. There was only a slump in his shoulders, his head downturned as he made his way to the living room.

Taking his lack of being shooed out as an invitation to follow, Jonathan shut the giant doors behind himself as he traced Steve's steps. When he entered the living room, Steve was already curled up on the couch, his feet tucked underneath him, one elbow propped up on the armrest. His homework was spread out on the coffee table in front of him, various math equations scrawled out on the pages. Clicking his tongue, Jonathan sat down beside him, leaving a good foot of space between them. He noticed with a smile that there was a glass on the table, one of the whisky ice cubes inside.

'I ran into Billy this morning.'

Jonathan's eyes slid up. Everybody at school had known Steve had gotten into fight, though very few knew the intimate details. It had been hard to ignore Steve's dual black eyes, his swollen nose, the mottled bruising that ran from brow to chin and disappeared somewhere under his shirt. He hadn't been at school for a week, but his face had still been puffy and sore when he'd returned. Everyone had looked and stared and whispered behind their hands. A few classmates had even pried and asked if Jonathan knew what had happened. After all, he'd been the one to sock Steve the year before. But he'd shaken his head and admitted he had nothing to do with it.

For weeks afterwards, he had waited with baited breath for Billy to get hauled out of school in a pair of handcuffs. The Harringtons surely wouldn't take their only son being bashed within an inch of consciousness lying down. They'd find out who had done it and justice would be sought. But that had never happened. Nothing official was ever said or done, though Jonathan had heard that Billy had mysteriously been taken off the A-league basketball team and that the two of them no longer shared any classes. 

Steve was still. Only his eyes moved, darting across the carpet as he continued to hug himself. Jonathan wondered if it would be safe to touch him, but he curled his fingers into his hand and kept it to his chest. 

'I'd played it in my head so many times, y'know? What I'd say, what I'd do. I could get through school, seeing him everyday, knowing that there were people between us... I could do it knowing that I was _safe_. And then there was graduation, I went to my sister's and- '

Steve stopped to take a breath. He still hadn't moved. As he opened his mouth, a soft rasping noise came out. His jaw worked, as though he was trying to stop his lower lip from trembling, a fact that was probably true. Carefully, Jonathan pulled the strap of his bag over his head and set it on the ground, not wanting to disturb Steve or call attention to himself.

'I hadn't seen him. I guess I thought he'd left town while I was away. I only go into town to see you at the cinema, otherwise I'm at college or work.'

'What did he do?' Jonathan finally dared to ask.

'Nothing!' Steve gave a barking laugh, his head snapping to face Jonathan. There were dark circles under his eyes, which were faintly red. 'I don't think he even saw me. But- but I _froze_. I fucking froze, Jon. I'd been building this up in my head for months. What I'd say and, and, and what I'd do, and- and then I saw him, and I froze and I ran. I'm such a fucking coward.'

'No- '

Leaning over, Jonathan finally dared to grab Steve's hand. It was the first time he'd done it, actually held his hand of his own accord, their fingers threading together, but he didn't realise that then. He only clutched at Steve's warm, long fingers, holding them to his chest as he shifted closer. There was that shift in Steve's jaw again, his lips pursing.

'You're not a coward. You're brave.'

'No, I'm not. I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to fight him. I was terrified.'

' _Steve_. Being brave isn't about never being afraid. Being brave is about staying even though you're afraid.'

Steve looked incredibly dubious at that. With his brow furrowed and the corners of his mouth turned down, he fell back against the couch. His cheek rested on the top of it, eyes shifting away from Jonathan. He kept their hands together, though, his callused fingers running over Jonathan's knuckles as he positioned their hands in a more comfortable way. There was a faint tremor in it, a shiver running over his spine as he studied the wall behind them. Jonathan just held on all the more tighter.

'I couldn't tell my parents. My father hounded me for weeks. He wanted to press charges,' Steve said after a lengthy silence, his voice soft and cracking. 'He couldn't understand why I wouldn't say who did it. What was I meant to do? If I told them who it was, I'd have to say where I was. What I was doing.'

'I'm sorry,' Jonathan said weakly, unsure what else to say.

'And even if I did press charges, I'd have to drag Max through the whole damn thing. She's a sweet kid, but she's had it tough. If there was a whole legal battle, I could only imagine how Billy would fuck her around more.'

Steve sniffed. His nose had started to run, his eyes welling with tears. Grabbing his bag, Jonathan unzipped it with one hand, his other still encased in Steve's, and dug out a pile of napkins from the diner. Much like his mother, he always kept a supply on hand. Passing them over, Steve gave a weak, croaking laugh and grabbed one. He balled it up, squeezing it as he looked down, a small, wet sound coming from him.

'I can't cry.'

'It's okay,' Jonathan whispered. 'If you want to, it's okay, I'm not gonna judge.'

'No, it's not that.' Steve shook his head, sniffed, and pointed at his nose before he dared to look up. He still didn't quite meet Jonathan's eye, his gaze somewhere on his cheek. 'It hurts my nose. It's broken in three places. So any time I cry or I sneeze or- or I get allergies or anything like that, it swells up and my whole face hurts.'

Taking Jonathan's finger, Steve carefully raised it to his face. He ran it down the bridge of his nose until Jonathan felt a dip underneath his fingertip. Steve's finger pressed into his own, and he felt the side of Steve's nose collapse, a horrible popping sensation felt underneath his finger. Steve flinched just a touch. Slightly repulsed, he pulled his hand away, wondering if it had hurt at all.

'The doctors won't touch it until I'm twenty-one,' Steve said with a shrug that seemed far too casual for what he was saying or how he looked. 'They say it's too risky and that my nose might change between now and then, and it could wind up worse. At least the bones in my cheek have healed.'

He spoke with a tone that was attempting to be flippant but sounded forced around the edges. Every time he finished talking, he'd give a weak laugh, an audible click in his throat. Gritting his teeth, he adjusted their hands again. His hand was rougher than Jonathan had expected, though he supposed part of that was a side effect of his love of sport. There was a callus right underneath his middle finger that Jonathan rubbed his thumb against, feeling the rough, raised skin. He hadn't had much of a chance to focus on it when they'd held hands in the car that one time, having been too overwhelmed by the music and singing back then.

'Does it hurt much?' he asked softly.

'Sometimes,' Steve admitted. 'I couldn't wear my glasses for a month. Not that I wore them at school, but... but after. I wound up being able to balance them right in that soft spot.'

Folding his other hand over Steve's, Jonathan pulled it across and lay it flat on his knee. They were pressed up against one another. He hated how nice it felt, to have Steve leaning against him like this, when they were discussing this. Their knees were laying flush against one another, and Steve had peeled back Jonathan's hand and was tracing lines up the middle of each of his fingers.

'I can't smell anything. That's the worst thing. I didn't even notice at first. It just crept up. And then one day... my mom, she always wears this perfume. It's sort of sweet, sort of smells like fake strawberries. It's really gross, but it always reminds me of her. And then one day, during Christmas... it just wasn't there. Nothing was. And I realised I hadn't been able to smell anything for weeks. Couldn't taste anything, either. I mean, I can taste really strong things. Like... spicy food. And orange juice. Chocolate.'

'The Junior Mints.'

Steve snorted and nodded, smiling crookedly. 'Yeah. Exactly.'

'And the ice?'

'A little.' After a pause, Steve shrugged and elaborated. 'It's easier to eat interesting foods. Different textures. I like eggs on toast because there's the crunch of the bread and the softer eggs. And popcorn. Popcorn is fun. The Junior Mints are soft, the popcorn is rough. The salt from the popcorn brings out the chocolate a bit more, so I can taste it better.'

'I just thought you liked salty, minty chocolate.'

Steve smiled at him, a little weakly but more honestly than before.

He'd calmed down somewhat. Jonathan could see the dark circles that still lingered under his eyes, the slightly tremor in his lip, but he didn't seem so wound up. His face was still a little blotchy, his lips red and swollen from where he'd been pursing them together. Reaching over, he pushed Steve's long bangs from his face, combing his hair back and tucking the longest strands behind his ear. Steve's eyes fluttered shut, before he tilted his head ever so slightly. A heavy breath came from him as he rested his head upon Jonathan's palm. Cautiously, Jonathan moved his thumb, catching it under Steve's earlobe. Rubbing a small circle, he took the moment to just drink him in.

Tired. That's what Steve looked like. Not just tired, but so utterly exhausted. He could recall in the days after Steve had returned to school, the whispers that had abounded. Jonathan hadn't seen Steve immediately after the fight, too concerned about Will and ensuring he was safe, but the kids had told him later. Dustin had gushed over dinner, a month or so later, about what Steve had done. Lucas, too, had elaborated a little more. Steve had been so silent about it, and Jonathan hadn't even given it a second thought. They had been so unbothered by it, the way kids could be when they didn't understand the enormity of a situation. Naivete made them numb to the horrific violence they had witnessed. Only Max had seemed to fully comprehend what had occurred, and she remained silent throughout the story.

'I'm sorry I didn't reach out.'

'Don't- '

Whatever Steve had been about to say was cut off when he kissed Jonathan. It was a little wet, a little salty, the few tears that he'd dared to shed despite the stinging pain it would have caused still lingering on his skin. A thought passed Jonathan's mind as he wondered whether Steve could even taste it, if he even knew what his tears tasted like anymore. There was no point thinking about it, though, as he was being pushed back into the corner of the couch as Steve crawled on top of him.

There was a knee to his thigh, a hand on his shoulder, and then Steve was straddling him. He was heavier than Nancy had ever been, stronger, his hands cupping the sides of Jonathan's face as he kissed him. All Jonathan could do was hold on, clutch at him, hold him, his arms snaking around Steve's middle as he let his lips part and felt another tongue on his own. God, Steve was so warm, so solid, and he felt so utterly wonderful nestled on his lap as he rocked upward and against Jonathan's body. 

Between each kiss, each small break when Jonathan would suck down air, his fingers gripping the back of Steve's sweater, he heard him let out a small noise. A whimper, a murmur, a soft moan as Steve leant in and captured his mouth again. Daring to open his eyes, just slightly, Jonathan watched as a range of emotions danced across Steve's face: need, anguish, _desire_ , strong enough that Jonathan actually reached up and cupped the back of Steve's head, his fingers curling into the soft hair that was starting to grow back thicker and longer. The motion, as small as it seemed to be to Jonathan, was enough to have Steve grip his hips tighter with his knees as he pressed right up against him.

With a deep breath, Steve finally pulled away. Jonathan didn't particularly want him to, and he followed his mouth as far as he could until Steve settled back, sitting on his haunches. Panting, he ran his hand down Jonathan's sternum, clutching at his shirt as Jonathan finally, reluctantly, let go of his hair. 

Heat was burning low in Jonathan's belly. It was familiar, warm, and something he'd never really shared with another person. Having Steve on his lap like this was bordering on dangerous. The heft of his weight was wholly welcome, but he'd never actually shared this with someone he was actually deeply attracted to (and God, he was attracted to Steve, so utterly entirely, and he couldn't deny it any longer, he _was_ ). While he had been fond of Nancy, and he'd wanted to want her, he'd never been able to make himself feel that desire. This was different. This was a hunger that had been building up, slowly but surely, and oh, he wanted to feel more of Steve. Jonathan knew he shouldn't, not with the discussion they'd just been having, but the physical presence of Steve on his lap was a hard one to shake.

As though picking up on his growing anxiety about something embarrassing possibly coming up (or, maybe, Jonathan thought hopefully, Steve sharing the same concern), Steve finally eased off. Putting his weight on his knee, he swung back around until he landed on the couch, breathing a little more erratically than he had before. Now would be the time to ask about what they were doing. Now would be the time to figure out just what the hell was going on.

He didn't, though. He just sat there, eyes shut as he tasted Steve on his tongue, smelt him in his clothes, both things he assumed Steve couldn't experience. He could hold his hand, though, their fingers lacing together as he waited for his heartbeat to slow. Beside him, he watched Steve out of the corner of his eye, leaning over and grabbing one of the workbooks off the table. When he sat back, he passed the book to Jonathan. Opening it up somewhere in the middle, he tapped the page.

'Can you help me with my essay?' he asked, a little cautiously.

Inside the book was an assignment rubric. Reading it over, his mouth twitching into a smile at the request, Jonathan nodded. Grabbing a pen off the table, Steve passed it over and curled up around him and began to explain the requirements of the essay. As he did, Jonathan settled in, ready to get to work. 

*

Jonathan's mother was waiting for him when he got home. The sun had set, his dinner wrapped in foil and sitting in the oven to stay warm and inevitably dry out. Steve had kissed him before he'd left, the softest kiss yet. It had seemed like a fast, last minute decision, and yet it had stayed with Jonathan the whole drive home. The feel of Steve on his lap, hungry and needy (and yes, he had been needy, Jonathan decided) would follow him to his bedroom to be thought about later, but the delicate brush of Steve's mouth on his own had set his heart ablaze. It was the memory of that, along with the feeling of Steve's hand in his own, the way he'd leant up against him and ran his fingers through his hair, that chased him to the front door as let himself in.

For the most part, Joyce wasn't the type of launch an attack the moment he walked through the front door. Despite the anxieties that Will had unintentionally put them through over the years, despite Joyce's own issues, she'd never been the type to corner either of her sons if they were home a few minutes late. Jonathan wasn't home just a few minutes late, though. It was well past dinner, Will was holed up in his bedroom likely doing his homework, and Joyce looked like she had smoked half her cigarettes. He hadn't thought to call, his mind focused instead on Steve.

She asked if he'd eaten as way of a greeting. When Jonathan stopped and shook his head, too shocked to find the words to say anything else, she frogmarched him into the kitchen. The food was room temperature, likely intended as a punishment, but Jonathan scarfed it up anyway. He'd been too involved in breaking down the essay for Steve, showing him a way to restructure it while keeping the majority of what he'd worked on. While it was clear essay writing was a weak point for him, Jonathan could see he had some good ideas to work on. He just needed to figure out how to get them all out in a coherent manner.

Besides, he seemed so fragile. Even when he left, there was a tremor in Steve's jaw, his fingers so careful and uncertain as they'd threaded through Jonathan's own as he kissed him.

Sitting at the table, taking a mouthful of peas and mashed potatoes, Jonathan tried to avoid his mother's penetrating gaze. It was impossible. She had a way of holding her cigarette, her eyes boring holes in his skull as he shovelled the food in his mouth. She sat opposite him, back straight, her expression tight. He couldn't help but think about Steve, even now, and the fact he likely wouldn't be able to taste the butter and cream that blended through the potatoes. He'd probably wind up mixing it all together, peas and potatoes and broccoli, just to make it a bit more interesting to eat. Maybe he'd ask him next time.

'Where were you?'

Wiping his mouth on a napkin, Jonathan lowered his eyes. He'd never hid anything from her. Not really. The Byers as a three were incredibly close. They had relied on each other for so long, even before the Upside Down. Setting his fork down, he heard soft notes coming from Will's bedroom. It was a mix tape he'd made for himself; it sounded like he'd gotten into smooth jazz. A weird choice for sure, but one Jonathan didn't want to judge him for.

'I... was helping someone,' he finally said.

' _Helping_ someone?'

'A friend. With their homework,' he said, trying to dodge the question but knowing how awful that sounded.

Joyce took a drag of her cigarette and sat back, crossing one leg over the other. She'd been taking tips from Hopper. Jonathan recognised it, the way he'd sit and wait for the confession to come out. Breathing in deeply, Jonathan picked up the fork and began to eat again. Joyce smoked Camels while Steve seemed more inclined towards Lucky Strike. He'd seen the packet in his bag a few times, crushed up and bent. 

His fork rattled on the plate. Scraping the tines over the china, scooping the last of the peas on his fork with his knife, he tried to hold out. Jonathan lived in silence, he thrived in it, he wasn't going to succumb now, just because his mother was staring at him like that. 

It was a losing battle. The longer he sat there, the more he began to realise she didn't seem pissed. Worried, yes, but he had checked in with Will before he'd disappeared for the afternoon. That had been his saving grace. If anything, her cocked eyebrow and slight rocking on the back legs of her chair seemed... amused. Just a little, like she was trying to keep herself in check. 

Setting his cutlery down again, he reached for the glass of water. Taking a sip, eyes still averted, he tapped his finger on the side. The Byers didn't drink beverages with ice.

He wondered if Steve's parents were home. He wondered who cooked. If his mother did. If Steve did. He seemed so helpless at times.

'I think I'm dating someone.'

Joyce lowered her chin and looked at Jonathan down her nose. She rocked back and forth slowly on her chair before setting all four legs on the ground. Reaching over to the ashtray, she tapped the end of her cigarette, gave him a steady look, and took another drag. She waited until she exhaled, blowing a cloud of smoke over her shoulder.

'You _think_ you're dating someone?'

'Maybe? I don't know.'

She shook her head and raised a hand, a little helplessly. 'Why?'

Shit, he didn't want to go into this. Falling back into his chair, his plate empty, he took the glass of water. After another sip, he rested it on his knee. He'd always been so open with his mother, but that had never really extended to dating. He'd told her about his awkward first kiss at fourteen, and then he'd come out to her as gay, and that had been the extent of their history. But there was no one else he could really speak to about this, except for perhaps Steve, and Jonathan kept resisting doing that.

'This... guy and I...' he started weakly, wincing a little at the way it sounded. 'Nothing's really happened, but we've... um...'

Joyce was giving him a look, the kind all sons never wanted to see on their mother, and Jonathan gave a small yelp and shook his head.

'No- no, it's never- we've never- we've only kissed, I promise.'

Visibly calming, Joyce relaxed back into her chair while Jonathan did the same. Extinguishing her cigarette, she clicked her tongue.

'And you're not sure if you two are dating?'

'Right.' 

Pushing his hair off his face, Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut. He could still feel Steve's hands clutching at his shoulders, the way he'd pushed and shoved him until there was enough space to crawl upon his lap. There had been a moment when he'd been sure Steve was actually about to grind against him, their bodies pressed in so tight, so wonderfully close. Steve had made such a small, desperate noise, and Jonathan knew it was going to haunt him as he rutted against his bed later.

'I think he's straight. Maybe. I don't know. Jesus.'

Pressing both hands to his face, Jonathan gave a loud groan. He heard Joyce sigh (and God, she sounded like she wanted to laugh) as she stood, her chair scratching on the ground as she leant over and gave him a kiss on the top of his head. Picking up his plate, she carried it to the sink and began to clean it. When Jonathan made a move to help her, his hands dropping from his face, she waved him away.

'Have you considered asking him?'

'Aw, nah, Mom, I'm just going to ignore him completely.'

Joyce shot him a sharp look over her shoulder. Immediately apologising, through his hands up in mercy, Jonathan quickly bit his tongue. He knew it was wrong to sarcastically talk back to her. She was trying, he knew that. Having her eldest son start dating (possibly, maybe) was never going to be easy, particularly when he was gay.

Staying at the table, nursing the glass of water, Jonathan took his time sipping it. He hoped Steve had eaten. While he looked better by the time he'd gone, there had still been a slight redness in his eyes, a haunted expression right before Jonathan had gone. He'd admitted, quietly and desperately, that he didn't sleep well some nights. Insomnia plagued him, especially in October.

'Doug mentioned Steve's been stopping by quite frequently.'

That caused Jonathan to splutter, coughing as his sip of water threatened to go down the wrong way.

'You- what? You've been- '

'Oh, calm down,' Joyce chided, wiping her hands on the towel and folding it on the sink. 'He stopped by at work. He said it's nice to see you finally making friends.'

The look on her face told Jonathan that she didn't buy that it was just _friends_ , though. Her arms folded, she tilted her head to the side, an eyebrow raised. Looking up at her, feeling quite small of a sudden, he set the empty glass on the table. Clearing his throat, he shrugged, nodded, and rubbed his hands together. 

'Uh. Yeah. It's... yeah, we're definitely. Definitely, um. Friends. I think.'

'You think?' Joyce repeated, a touch incredulous.

'Maybe. I'm pretty sure.'

'But you don't know,' she continued, staring him down.

Jonathan went a touch pink.

'Have you considered asking?'

'I need to make sure my homework is done for Monday,' he finally said, racing to get up.

Almost leaving his glass on the table, he spun around and carried it to the sink. Giving his mother a kiss on the cheek, Jonathan scurried out, scooping his bag up on the way. Breathing hard, he lunged towards his bedroom, the door closing heavily between him. Diving onto the bed, Jonathan grabbed at his pillow and groaned into it, caught between heaving with embarrassment and breaking out in peals of laughter. 

Yeah, he was definitely in over his head.


	17. xvii. 1415 - That Was Then... This Is Now

School was back in swing. Jonathan had his assignments from break completed and handed in, while Nancy seemed to be struggling. Her anxiety had begun to eat her up, and Jonathan felt a little helpless to stop it. He'd tried to catch up with her after school, even going so far as to invite her to a movie and lunch on a Saturday, though she had yet to take him up on that offer.

The weeks felt like they were going by too fast. Jonathan had no time to stop and breathe, forced to scramble from class to work to the dinner table. Halloween was gone in a flash, and Will made it through intact. Steve had been invited to a college party, and though he seemed to consider not going to it, Jonathan eventually gently encouraged him into swinging by. Steve called him late that Thursday night, his speech slightly slurred and a laugh on his voice as he told him he had a nice time and that he was home safe. Joyce, to her credit, didn't complain about the one AM phone call.

Somehow it became November. The months were slipping through Jonathan's fingers. His college applications were off, flying over the country. While he still had great hopes for NYU, Nancy and Joyce had both managed to talk him into applying elsewhere. With money tight, his options were a little limited, but he still managed to get a handful out. California, Oregon, Tennessee. There was a definite thrill in seeing his applications pass the counter at the post office, knowing they were going to be landing on the desks of various admission offices across the country. Even so, he kept his fingers crossed in hope for NYU. Ever since he could remember, that had been his end goal. A city where he could find himself, meet people like himself. Aloof and quiet and, sure, maybe a little queer, in all meanings of the word.

In the back of his mind, though, he still kept turning over Steve. It was clear that Steve was thriving in college, even if it was only community college. He'd managed to pick up a small group of friends again, though their names washed over Jonathan. Even if he found the classwork mostly dull, the math not nearly as difficult as he assumed it would be, and the commute long, Steve was enjoying himself. He was still tutoring and playing basketball twice a week. And, on top of that, every Saturday afternoon was carved out for the two of them. Jonathan still grew eager to see him, the whole day being a countdown to the last film of his shift. Despite how busy either of them got with class and study, they managed to keep that small pocket of time. It had become a space that existed just for them, whether they spent it silently watching the movie or helping each other with math or an essay. Saturday afternoon was their time.

Steve had taken to holding his hand, just a little. There still seemed to be a little uncertainty as to whether they were allowed to kiss one another. Jonathan had begun to pick that up, the way he'd sometimes catch Steve staring at him while he was changing the reel, or that lingering moment right before he left, and the door would be open and Steve would make a move as though he wanted to lean over, but one of other projectionists would start down the corridor. Jonathan just wanted to pull him back in and kiss him right there, up against the door, but he never had the capability to do it.

November flew by. Jonathan watched the days disappear on the calendar, stunned to find himself staring at the end of the month. His lips had remained unkissed all throughout; the closest he and Steve ever got was their hands linked with their shoulders touching. Joyce had needled him a few times, trying to pull more information out of him, while he sat there, trying to ignore her smug smile or worried eyes, depending on the day. No matter her emotional response, though, she was always supportive, a fact that Jonathan knew not to take for granted. So many other parents would be pulling their child from school and send them marching to a camp.

The end of November hit fast. Will was having everyone around that day, which lifted Jonathan's spirits. The whole crew hadn't been together in a long while, and Jonathan couldn't remember the last time Will had collectively mentioned all of them. _Bye Bye Birdie_ had become the pet project of both Will and Dustin, and Jonathan thought he'd heard El's name get brought up a few times, with her working behind the scenes. Even their usual D &D games had started to slow down, which meant Jonathan and Nancy's typical weekend catch up in the evening had come to a stop. It was funny how much Jonathan missed it. Promising to bring pizza back home after work for the whole team, Jonathan set off to work that Saturday with barely another thought.

Although it was a Saturday, he certainly wasn't expecting to see Steve until late that afternoon. He was showing a film that had already been out for several weeks, _That Was Then... This Is Now_ , an Emilio Estevez number that had already been showing for a few weeks. Jonathan enjoyed it, though he wasn't entirely sure if he actually liked the film, or if he just liked watching Emilio onscreen. He and Steve had already watched the film the week before, but he didn't mind having to screen it again.

He was just starting the afternoon session, having come back from his lunch break, when there was a rap on the door. Calling over his shoulder as he hooked up the trailer reel, he didn't expect Steve to walk in. He had a bag slung over his shoulder and a peanut butter sandwich in his hand. 

'Hey- '

'I can't stay long, I'm on my way to the Sinclairs,' he said around a mouthful of bread. Sucking his lips clean, he swallowed and began to pick bread from his teeth. 'My last kid cancelled. Chicken pox. D'you wanna do something once you're finished?'

Steve's hair was long enough to tuck behind his ears now. It curled around, hugging the shell of his ear as he took another ravenous bite of his sandwich, forcing the remainder of it in his mouth. It was mildly disgusting to witness, but Jonathan didn't particularly mind. It was good to see Steve so happy. It was just plain good to see Steve, period.

He was meant to head home after work. But Joyce had the day off, and Will was safe at home with all his friends. While his mother did seem a little bit worried about Jonathan's romantic life (or lack thereof, he still wasn't entirely clear), she hadn't actually told him to stop. There had been a few 'be carefuls', and a number of 'do I need to take you to the chemist?', all of which had left Jonathan red and covering his ears with his hands as he ran from the kitchen.

He'd have to call her. Let her know. Maybe he could stop by the pizza place and have one delivered. But there was no real reason why she could say no. He was on top of his homework, Will was accounted for, and he had enough money to go out with Steve somewhere. Nodding, he brightened when Steve grinned, his smile contagious. 

'Sweet!' Steve chirped, clapping him on the shoulder. 'I'll be around here at five.'

Although he'd been hoping for a kiss, Steve scampered off before Jonathan could make a move. It was probably for the best, as he needed to keep an eye on the reel, and Steve's teeth had been covered in peanut butter.

*

The last screening of the film finished just shy of quarter to five. Packing up the reels, Jonathan gave the room a quick sweep down and left the cans out for the next projectionist. Throwing his jacket on, Jonathan waved his goodbyes to his coworkers, slightly buzzing as he went to sign out in the small office just behind the concession stand. Sticking his head into the lobby, he saw Steve waiting there, awkwardly trying to avoid a conversation with Anneliese as she twirled a strand of blonde hair around her finger. Steve's eyes met his and he made a move to head over. Snickering, Jonathan hold his hand to signal five minutes, before he ducked into the back office to call his mother.

It sounded like the party was well under way. He could hear Max and Lucas in the background, arguing over which horror movie monster was the best (it sounded like Max was winning). Joyce attempted to shush them, to no avail. She'd always quietly thanked whatever deity there was that she had had two boys instead of a girl.

'I'm going to be late,' Jonathan blurted out, a little less delicately than intended. 'I mean... out until late. I'm not sure when I'll bet home.'

'Oh-' There was a slight falter, and Jonathan could picture the anxiety immediately pinging for Joyce.

'I'm okay! I'm fine, no one's hurt. I... I have... I think I have a date.'

'Oh!'

'Maybe. I'm not sure.'

Twisting the cord around his finger, Jonathan opened the door slightly and peered out. Steve was still being chatted to by Anneliese, his awkwardness almost palatable. Covering his mouth as he smiled to himself, Jonathan shut the door again and leant back against the wall.

'I was meant to grab a pizza for Will and the guys. Guys and girls. If you want, I can place an order and pay for it- '

'No, I'll organise it,' Joyce said, just as there was a crash somewhere in the background. Jonathan could hear Dustin swear loudly before apologising for swearing. 'Just- just be safe, make good choices.'

Yeah, that was exactly what Jonathan needed to hear. When he set the phone back on the cradle and left the office, Steve had finally somehow managed to shake Anneliese. He was standing in the corner of the lobby, eyes darting to the office that Jonathan had slipped into. When he came out, Steve gave a loud groan, his eyes rolling back as he stepped over.

'You took your sweet-ass time,' he drawled. 'What a persistent little- '

'You could have waited outside,' Jonathan said, cutting him off before Steve could finish his sentence. 

Steve stuck his tongue out at him but allowed himself to get led out all the same. It looked like Anneliese had already headed home, no doubt frustrated that Steve had once again slipped through her fingers at trying to score a date. With a smile, Jonathan thought to himself that he'd won out, that he was the one going on a date with him, though it still made him itch a little as it wasn't entirely clear if this was a date. As much as he wanted to ask, his tongue felt stuck in his mouth, and he couldn't quite utter the words as he followed Steve out to the road where he'd parked his car.

'Hop in.'

'Where are we going?'

'Just get in. Do you have your camera?'

Jonathan lightly smacked his messenger bag, where the camera was carefully tucked away. He almost always carried it on him now, capturing snapshots of Hawkins, frozen in time. A part of it was planning for his inevitable move away for college. One day, all of this would just be a memory, and he wanted to capture it all before he could forget it. This would be the last November he'd spend in Hawkins, that had been his last Halloween, his last Thanksgiving was coming up. Jonathan had never truly been one for nostalgia, but it was a creeping sensation he couldn't quite shake.

'I promise I'll have you home before midnight,' Steve teased as Jonathan slid into the car beside him.

Peering into the back seat, Jonathan took in the picnic hamper. Maybe this was a date, and not just his overactive imagination.

'Where are we going?'

'Somewhere neat. I promise I won't murder you.'

Jonathan wasn't worried about being murdered so much as freezing his ass off. It was burgeoning on winter and the cold was beginning to hit the freezing point at night. Jonathan would wake up to find frost on his windshield and his engine threatening to not roll over. Beside him, though, Steve was grinning and patting his knee reassuringly; Jonathan couldn't help but feel just a little excited and reassured at the warm hand on his leg.

They headed east, towards the town boundary. The evening news was on the radio, and Steve turned the dial down as he talked over the top of it. His sister was due in the next couple of weeks, the essay Jonathan had been helping him with had been handed back with an 86%, there was talk of some of his friends having a New Year's Eve party and he was thinking of going. Jonathan just sat and listened as Steve rabbited on, a smile drifting over his face. He was so animated. One hand tapped on the wheel as he gestured with the other, reaching over to smack his hand on the glove department. Finally, he asked Jonathan to grab his glasses out of it, which he did, handing them over. 

The streetlights reflected on the lenses in his glasses. The house lights, some already decorated for Christmas, flashed across his eyes, briefly lighting them up in an array of colours. Although he was well aware he was staring, Jonathan didn't feel quite so embarrassed about doing it now. He was allowed to take in the sharp line of his nose, the way his hair fell across his brow, the freckles that sat on his jaw. The turtleneck sweater Steve wore curled snug under his chin, mustard yellow and matching his eyes.

They drove up into the hills. The lights of civilisation disappeared behind them, covered by trees. Jonathan faintly recognised this as the way to the quarry, but instead of turning left and following the main road to it, Steve turned right. This road was smaller, steeper, the sky seeming to be darker though it didn't seem possible. It was still only early, civil twilight not yet reached, but everything seemed quieter, even from inside the car. 

It took them the better part of ten minutes to drive up it. At the crest of the hill, Steve pulled into a small parking lot. Jonathan was sure he'd been up here at one point, years ago, when he was younger than Will. The air was brisk and he hugged himself as he stepped out, rubbing his arms. Swearing under his breath, wishing he'd brought his winter coat to work that morning, he watched as Steve took his time getting the hamper out of the back seat. It took him even longer as he fussed around with something in the trunk, holding his keys between his teeth as he finally dug out a blanket. Tossing it over his shoulder, he managed to grab a scarf as well and headed to Jonathan. With one hand, he wrapped it around his neck, tucking one end down the front of Jonathan's shirt.

'Quit your bitching and check this out.'

Handing the blanket to Jonathan (who quickly unfolded it and wrapped it around his shoulders – his jacket was thin, as he hadn't been expecting to be frolicking about outside after work), he followed along behind. Steve clearly knew where he was headed. Walking along the edge of the parking lot, a flashlight in hand that he'd pulled from the trunk, he lit up a path. It led them away from the parking lot and towards a picnic area, likely bustling during the day in the warmer months.

'This is great, Steve, but I really don't- '

'Look.'

Turning the flashlight off, Steve grabbed Jonathan by the shoulder and positioned him west.

They were standing on the edge of the hill, which dropped into a cliff. Beneath them, Hawkins had lit up. The lights winked and danced underneath him, people going about their lives without a concern. In the distance, the sun was setting, the sky lit up in a glorious dusk rainbow. The blue hour had brought with it a lush array of colours, pinks and purples tinting the sky. He'd always loved this time, and it was one of the only circumstances where he actually considered switching from black-and-white photography to colour.

Digging out his camera, hurriedly pulling it free from the case, he let his bag drop to the ground. Without a word, he raised the camera to his eye, taking just a few breaths to adjust lens. Beside him, he could hear Steve fussing around, waiting until Jonathan had lowered the camera to pull the blanket off his shoulders. The cold night air hit him straight away, but he didn't particularly notice. Crouching down, one knee on the damp grass, he took a moment to position the camera right. There was no guarantee that anything spectacularly clear would come out – he didn't have the right equipment, and astrophotography had never been something he'd experimented with. But he still wanted something of this moment to take back home with him.

As the colours deepened, making it impossible to get anything clear, Jonathan lowered the camera. Sitting back down on the blanket, he finally turned to look at the set up Steve had been working on. There were a pair of flashlights, one already switched on. Sandwiches, pastries from the bakery near his work, a fruit salad that was likely store bought, and a thermos of something that looked like coffee when Steve poured himself a cup. It had likely been hastily thrown together given Steve's free afternoon, but it still made Jonathan's heart ache in a way that was unfamiliar but wonderful.

Turning on the second flashlight, Jonathan watched as Steve pulled out a Walkman, a pair of headphones attached. Pressing play, he turned the volume up. Jonathan could hear a Journey song crooning in the background coming through the headphones, something he'd never willingly listen to on his own, but its soft tones actually complimented this set up. Without a word, he lifted the camera again, positioning the flashlight to point at Steve. A quick snap and he'd captured his hands, fussing with the Walkman as he fussed with the volume so they had some music. Another, Steve's watch reflecting the light. A third, of Steve eyeballing him with a sweet, shy expression behind his glasses.

Setting the camera aside, he adjusted the scarf around his neck and took the cup of coffee offered to him. It was gloriously warm and he held onto it, taking his time to admire the spread Steve had arranged. No matter how hastily prepared it had likely been, there had been some thought put into it. Into _this_. Jonathan wondered if Steve had been preparing it for some time.

'I like to come up here when my parents are fighting,' Steve admitted quietly. 

'Do they do it a lot?'

It took Steve a moment to respond. Ripping open one of the waxy paper bags from the bakery, he took out a quiche and passed it to Jonathan. It had cooled slightly on the drive up, but that was no matter. Taking a bite, Jonathan kept his eyes on Steve. It was crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, with a slight crunch where root vegetables were mixed within.

'It's getting worse,' he finally admitted. 'They fight about anything. It used to be about things that make sense. My dad's affairs, Mom's drinking. Now it's anything. The colour of napkins, where to get dinner... me. Mostly me these days.'

Steve set his quiche down on the paper. Swiping his thumb over his lip, he took a sip of his coffee and looked out over the view. Curling his fingers into his frozen hands, Jonathan decided to not bitch about the cold. Instead, he shifted closer, moving along the blanket until he was sitting up against Steve.

'I hate it here,' Steve whispered when Jonathan stilled. 'I hate it.'

It was an opinion he'd expressed before, a number of times. Right then, though, there was more venom to it, a disgust where before it had been buried more in a wishful thought.

'I want to get out. My dad wants me to stay, work for him. Making coffee, filing papers, maybe start taking me out on some jobs. And Mom just wants me to stick around because she doesn't want to have to put up with my dad without me. I'm a buffer, she says. They should just get a fucking divorce already.'

'Why don't they?'

'God, that'd be a fucking scandal and a half.' Steve shifted and rested up against Jonathan's, his back settling in against Jonathan's chest. 'I need to get out. I'm going to suffocate here.'

Shivering, Jonathan lowered his eyes. It was a sentiment he himself had echoed so many months ago, when the temperature had been warmer and Steve's lips had first touched his own. Steve would be crushed by the small town mentality, the restrictive noose that would tighten around his throat if he didn't escape to somewhere bigger. He belonged in a town where the lights wouldn't be swallowed up by a hill on the outskirts of town. Where the streets were filled at every hour, where Steve's brightness would radiate off him and be appreciated by people other than Jonathan. He deserved to be challenged and excited, to have an opportunity to explore what he wanted to do and not step into the shoes that had been passed down to him from a father that wouldn't allow him to express himself, whether it was by math or a ridiculous hairstyle.

'Why don't you go to New York?' he asked, the words uttered before he could stop them.

'And do what?'

Jonathan shrugged. 'Anything.'

'I'd have to do something. Have a plan. I still have six months at Ivy Tech, anyway.'

'You could do anything. New York's the sort of place that you don't need to plan ahead. Opportunities will open up for you.'

Steve seemed dubious. Jonathan just shrugged again. There was time well enough to come up with that. 

Closing his eyes, he turned his head and pressed his nose to Steve's temple, smelling floral shampoo, hairspray, a spicy aftershave. Beyond those first rich notes, there was the wafting pastries and strong, dark coffee. Further still was the biting scent of ice from frost on the grass, the pine trees and earthy dirt. All of it were likely things lost to Steve. With his eyes still shut, he allowed an arm to wrap around Steve, draping over his shoulders as he held him in close. The tips of his fingers were going numb, and it almost hurt when Steve reached up and encased them in his warm palm.

The night was clear. As the sun sank into the horizon, sending them into a world of black, the stars began to come out. Turning his eyes up to the sky, he traced what few constellations he knew. Will was the space nut of the family, and he was gearing up for the first flyby of Uranus in the coming months. He was even hoping to get the day off school for it, though Jonathan wasn't entirely sure if Joyce was going to allow him.

There was a song on the Walkman that he recognised. Furrowing his brow, he drew his mind away from the reverie and tapped his finger along to the tinny beat. Lowering his head, he eyed the headphones as he tried to place the song. Steve turned to him, the edge of his glasses brushing along Jonathan's cheekbone. 

'I know this song.'

'Yeah. It's from _Flashdance_.'

Bobbing his head, the beat surprisingly catchy, he hummed along. It was very Steve. Jonathan could picture him dancing along to the upbeat melody, singing along to it.

'It's the same girl as that other movie. _Fame_.'

In the edge of the flashlight beam, Jonathan saw Steve grin. Nodding, he playfully elbowed Jonathan in the ribs, causing him to squeal.

'I knew you liked that movie.'

'I liked seeing how happy it made you. Nothing to do with the film.'

'C'mon, you liked it.'

Rolling his eyes, Jonathan refused to admit anything. His arm had slipped slightly off Steve's shoulders, and without prompting, Steve took his hand again and pulled it back snug around him. Curling up around him, his head resting in the crook of Jonathan's neck, they descended back into quiet. The music was just quiet enough to not overwhelm the peacefulness of their surroundings. Even the cold didn't seem all that bad with Steve curled in so close.

It was hard to say how long they sat there. The music on the Walkman eventually ran out, the tape clicking as it came to the end. Crumbs were left on paper plates, the dregs of fruit in the bowl. The cold coffee was tipped out on the grass, the rubbish collected and bundled back into the hamper. Shaking the dirt and grass out of the blanket, Jonathan wrapped it back around his shoulders and went to carry his bag back up to the car. His camera was lovingly placed back into the case and zipped up.

Steve set everything back in the trunk of his car. Before it closed, Jonathan could swear he could see the bat with the hammered nails in there, housed in some kind of laundry hamper to stop it rolling around.

'Steve?'

The car shook as the trunk slammed shut. Looking up, a flashlight between his teeth, Steve removed it and shone it on Jonathan.

'What... is this?' he finally asked.

'What?' Steve asked, then eyed his car. 'BMW. 733i series. My dad gave it to me when he got a new company car.'

'No- no, I don't- I don't mean that.' Jonathan tried not to get too hung up on Steve's father giving him a brand new car because he got upgraded to an apparently even better one. 'I mean... I mean us. What- what are we doing?'

Opening the back door of the car, Jonathan slid his bag into behind the back seat. He'd meant to take the blanket off, but the cold that was now seeping in under his clothes compelled him to keep it on. Wrapping it around tighter, he watched as Steve made his way around the car, clearly turning the question over in his head. Despite his reluctance to answer, Jonathan had a feeling that this, too, was something that Steve had been trying to figure out.

'Well... what do you think this is?' Steve finally asked, stopping a few inches from him.

Taking a deep breath, Jonathan stepped back to lean against the rear panel of the vehicle. Keeping the blanket closed with one hand, he ran his hand over the open passenger door with the other. 

'I guess we're friends. Right?'

'Right,' Steve agreed. There was a small pause where he turned to face Jonathan, his shoe kicking along the road. 'And this was a date.'

'Right,' Jonathan agreed, a little relieved that he somehow hadn't entirely misread the situation. 

'I've never really thought about guys before. Or... maybe a little, I guess. Prince. Tom Cruise. Michael J. Fox.'

It was hard to tell in the dim light of the interior of the car and the flashlight that Steve was sweeping over the ground in a wide arc, but Jonathan was fairly sure Steve had turned red. His freckles always went a little darker when he blushed, his olive skin so quick to change hue. He switched the light off suddenly and tossed it into the car, where it promptly rolled off the seat and fell against Jonathan's messenger bag.

'And now you. I'm not gay, I know that. I like girls too much. But I like you, too. A lot.'

'I like you, too. A lot,' Jonathan added.

Steve stepped closer to him. He was avoiding Jonathan's gaze, his amber eyes remaining fixed on the tartan blanket that Jonathan was still clutching. The toes of their shoes were touching, Steve's bright, white Nikes contrasting to the scuffed boots Jonathan had on. 

'I like kissing you,' Steve continued.

'I like kissing you, too,' Jonathan echoed, apparently a little stuck in repeating everything Steve was saying.

'I'd like to kiss you now.'

Jonathan didn't immediately reply. His mouth had gone dry. Steve's eyes finally fluttered up as he gazed at him through his lashes, a touch bashful.

'I'd like that,' Jonathan finally admitted.

'I'm going to kiss you now.'

'Okay.'

The word had barely passed his lips before Steve swooped down and kissed him. Pressed back into the side of the car, Jonathan craned his head up to meet Steve, every kiss up until this point having been on more or less equal footing. Breathing in hard, one fist trapped between the two of them, he grabbed at Steve's shoulders, holding him close. Steve's hand came up to cup the back of his head, his fingers curling into Jonathan's sandy blonde hair at the nape of his neck, his nails scratching at his scalp. 

It felt like their most recent kiss, more than a month ago now, born of need and tinged with desire. Only there didn't seem to be any time limit on this one as there had been then. There was no turning point where Jonathan felt like maybe he should push Steve back or a reason for Steve to clamber away and get behind the wheel. They were alone up here and while Jonathan still didn't have the answer he was looking for precisely, he knew they were friends and this had been a date and Steve _liked_ him. 

There was a sudden shift in his balance. Jonathan didn't know if it was Steve pushing him or a step he made of his own volition, but he was moving closer to the open door. Letting go of Steve's shoulder, he groped about until he found the roof of the car and used it as a guide to swing himself down and back. Steve followed him, barely breaking the kiss. The back seat rose up to meet him as Jonathan fell inside, tugging at Steve's turtleneck. The scarf was still around his neck, a fact he realised dimly when Steve pulled at it, using the end to keep Jonathan's head lifted to his mouth. Groping about, he felt about for Steve's glasses, pulling them off and settling them carefully on the floor.

'Door- door,' Jonathan rasped. 'S'fucking cold. Mind my bag, shit, it's on the- the floor.'

With a laugh, Steve laughed and knelt up to slam it closed. The car shook with the force of it and Steve swore loudly as his head hit the roof. The car was too cramped for two young men of their size, even Jonathan barely fitting across the back seats, but that didn't seem to matter. Steve was back on him, even with one knee on the floor so both of them could crowd the back seat, a hand groping around to find the edge of the scarf to unravel it. The blanket slid over the leather seats, and Jonathan was acutely aware of his boot potentially scuffing the upholstery. 

Steve, on the other hand, didn't seem to have any similar qualms. He was clambering over Jonathan, his mouth moving from lips to cheek to jaw to eneck, his freshly-exposed throat suddenly being sucked. The scarf was tossed somewhere in the front seat to be temporarily forgotten. The feeling of it made him cry out, the noise unexpected but obviously appreciated when he received an answering moan. Searching about, Jonathan's hands raked over Steve's back, hiking up the edge of his sweater to slide his cold, numb fingers over his skin.

'Fuck- _Jesus_ , are you from the crypt?' Steve yelped.

It didn't seem to put him off, though. His mouth immediately returned to Jonathan's, one frozen hand of his own sliding up the front of the thin, dark shirt that he wore. His hand swept over Jonathan's belly, his ribs, pushing higher until his nails caught on his nipple. The feeling of it, the slight tug, caused Jonathan to jolt, hips and back rolling off the seat of their own accord. Moaning softly, unexpectedly, his mouth sought out Steve's again.

Steve was grinding against him. The realisation hit slowly, but as his hands slid down, out from under his shirt and over the curve of his ass and across his jeans, it hit Jonathan. The roll of his hips, the way he pressed back into Jonathan's hands, the way he moaned against Jonathan's mouth. Humming in desire, Jonathan turned his head and caught Steve's earlobe between his teeth. He was rewarded with a distinct shiver, Steve gasping against his cheek as he rocked against his hands. Lapping at the soft skin in his mouth, Jonathan rolled his hips up again, groaning softly.

He was getting hard. It was inevitable. Steve was warm and his thigh was positioned between Jonathan's legs, his hip the perfect spot to rub against. He didn't necessarily want to, but the past few months had been filled with _this_ \- or something like this. Steve on top of him and kissing him and _wanting_ him, and Jonathan was getting swept up in a tide he'd never really experienced with another person before. His shirt was being rucked up around his armpits and Steve's hands were all over him and yeah, he was definitely pretty sure Steve was grinding against him now.

'I _really_ like you, Steve,' Jonathan rasped, helplessly arching his hips and pressing up against Steve.

'Yeah, I- I do, too- ' There was a small noise, almost like a hiccup from Steve, before he wheezed, 'holy fuck, that's hot.'

With his face buried in Jonathan's shoulder, Steve stilled. Pressed up against him, Jonathan pushed his foot against the car door, wondering if maybe he shouldn't have done that, if he should have held back his erection. Even so, it was too late now. He was hard and needy and Steve wasn't moving. Panting, Jonathan finally opened his eyes to the dark car they were in, the windows slightly fogged. Belatedly, he realised Steve was pressing against his own thigh. Maybe not as hard, but there was definitely something firm and hot against him, something Jonathan had often wondered about feeling from another guy, something he'd recently started to want from Steve.

He definitely knew what that was. The firmness, the heat from it, even through their jeans. The shaky breath that Steve was panting, when he turned to nuzzle against Jonathan. He was hard, too.

'Want you,' Jonathan mumbled, shooting a hand up to grab Steve's hair and bringing him back into a kiss.

Steve gave a muffled, moaning noise of agreement. The kiss had grown in fervour and desperation, Steve rutting against him as Jonathan groped about and finally managed to snake a hand down the back of his tight jeans and grip at his ass through the cotton of his briefs. His nails bit at Steve's muscle, causing him to yelp as he grabbed Jonathan's thigh. Somehow, with his foot smacking against the door, the back of the front seat and possibly the window, he heaved Jonathan's leg around his middle. 

He was close. Reality was so much better than his fantasies, with nothing to go by but his own thoughts and a dirty magazine. Jonathan didn't want to be this close but he was, each kiss and rock from Steve guiding him on a one-way path to release. Lips parted, Jonathan began to pant, Steve's name on his lips, distantly aware that Steve was mumbling much of the same, just the first syllable of Jonathan's name, over and over into his ear. 

With a cry, Jonathan's hips surged up. Heat washed over him, his toes curling into his shoes as his leg wrapped snug around Steve's waist. A rush went through him, his head back as he moaned loudly, clawing at Steve's sweater, his back, his hair, wherever his hands could scrambled. Everything went hazy and dizzy as he rocked against him, vaguely aware that Steve was twitching in his arms, his teeth grazing the skin on his neck. 

Lungs burning, Jonathan gulped down air. Licking his lips, sweat on his brow and upper lip, the stickiness in his boxers began to dawn on him. The car reeked of sweat and sex and leather, three things he'd never experienced at the same time. Shivering, he turned and burrowed his face into Steve's neck, tasting his damp skin, the salt.

They didn't move until the chill began to seep into the car. Reluctantly, Steve peeled himself off, Jonathan handing him his glasses, and left a kiss on Jonathan's lips. Clambering between the front seats, he slid into the driver's side. Jonathan copied him, a little less gracefully, all too aware of the mess in his boxers. As they drove down the hill, Steve took his hand, resting it on his knee all the way. Billy Joel's Uptown Girl was playing on the radio and Steve sang along, pointedly digging his finger into Jonathan's palm at certain parts.

After gently reminding Steve that he had to pick his car up from the cinema, they drove into town. Hawkins was typically quiet this late at night, and tonight was no exception. The chill in the air had driven most people into the comfort of their homes and beds. There were a still a few stragglers at the Hawk, the last movie of the night having only just started. Steve dropped him off in the rear parking lot, where a single, solitary light remained on at the back door. As he opened the car door, Steve kissed him quickly and took the opportunity to wrap the scarf around his neck.

'It suits you.'

He'd said the same thing about the lenticular cap, which now decorated a hook that hung off Jonathan's bedroom wall. He wondered if Steve had a thing for dressing him in his clothes.

Digging his car keys out of his bag, Jonathan pulled his bag over his shoulder. It felt stupid to ask, but he had to.

'I'll see you next week?'

'Same time?'

Jonathan nodded. Steve kissed him again, just as gently as before, and waited until he was safely in his own car before he drove off, flashing his headlights as he did.

The Byers home was quiet when he pulled up. While Jonathan was sure Mike was staying the night (maybe – or maybe it was only Dustin these days, he hadn't quite been keeping track), there was no noise. Only a light in the kitchen signalled anyone being awake, though that was typically a habit they had kept up if someone was out late. 

Creeping inside, adjusting the scarf around his neck, Jonathan knew there was a slight skip in his steps. His lips felt swollen, the nerves humming as he grinned and burrowed his face into the scarf that smelt purely of Steve. Not even his sticky boxers could keep his good mood at bay. While he longed for a shower, he didn't want to strip out of his clothes just yet. His whole body felt alive in a way he'd never experienced. Twisting the strap of his messenger bag around his hand, barely feeling the cold as he fumbled with the lock, he stepped in, trying to stay quiet,

He'd made it three steps before Joyce called out to him. Almost tripping over his feet, dimly noticing a shoelace had come undone, he jolted and spun around. There was a cigarette between her fingers as she stood in front of the fridge, holding a plate with a slice of pizza on it. She'd saved one for him. Of course. 

'Hi,' he managed to say.

'I thought you might- '

'It was definitely a date,' he blurted out.

His mother stared at him. Studied him. The scarf, the rumpled clothes, his hair a mess. The front of his jeans felt damp. Fuck, he hoped it wasn't visible.

With a sharp inhale, Jonathan turned on the ball of his foot and hurried out. Even the run-in couldn't stop his grin, though, nor the way he clutched the scarf to his neck as he slumped against his bedroom door, twisting a tasselled end around his hand and replayed every wonderful moment in his head.

No matter how obvious it was, he still had to shower, though. With his pyjamas under his arm, he scurried to the bathroom, timing his steps with the sound of Joyce puttering around the kitchen. Peeling off his clothes, sticky and wafting with memories of Steve, Jonathan scrubbed himself off. By the time he returned to his bedroom, dry and warm and blessedly clean, the kitchen light was off. On his bed was a plate of warm pizza and a note from Joyce.

_Glad you had a nice time._  
_When can he come over for dinner?_  
_Mom x_


	18. xviii. midnight movie

Steve called the following morning. Jonathan had been about to leave for work (thankfully only a half-shift, otherwise he'd really be struggling with staying on top of his homework), but he caught the phone just before he stepped out the door. With his back to the wall, Jonathan twisted and turned the cord around his finger, his heart fluttering as he listened to Steve apologise about whether he'd been too cold the night before and he should have packed something warmer. Laughing softly as he listened to Steve dance around the actual topic they were both thinking about, Jonathan finally cupped his hand over his mouth, the way his classmates would when sharing secrets, and murmured that he'd enjoyed it, every part of it. There was an audible catch in Steve's voice before that he admitted that he had, too. 

He sounded oddly shy. Jonathan wondered if Steve always did after he'd been intimate with someone, or if this was only because this had been an unusual circumstance. Jonathan, too, felt different that morning. He'd been intimate with Nancy a handful of times over their short, abrupt relationship, and each time he'd walked away feeling confused and uncertain if he was doing it wrong. In a way he had - he'd been doing it with the wrong person. 

In the days that followed, Jonathan felt like he was a floating ten feet above the ground. It was so strange. So little had actually happened. Their clothes had stayed on, they'd hardly touched one another. And yet Jonathan could still feel the scratch of Steve's fingernails in his chest, his warm mouth on Jonathan's neck. Mostly, his imagination kept narrowing in on the feeling Steve pressing against him, hard and hot and so utterly aroused. It was difficult to not pull out the dirty magazine when he still had those memories floating over him.

Nancy picked up on it right away the following Monday morning. He could see her just begging to ask, her nose twitching when she realised someone had a secret and hadn't divulged with her what it was. She managed to bite her lip and hold her tongue all the way until lunch time when she began to needle him. While he considered waiting a few more days, really make her drag it out of him, Jonathan couldn't help it. He wanted to tell someone. 

He divulged in spurts. A vague suggestion of what happened - a date, coffee, they'd made out. Somehow he managed to avoid uttering Steve's name, although it was right there on his lips. Just as Steve had been, all over his mouth and face and neck. And his _hands_ , grabbing him and claiming him while Jonathan had writhed underneath. He could still feel Steve's breath on his neck, the tug of his earlobe between his teeth, the way Steve had moaned and slurred his name as he'd rutted on top of him.

After lunch, he wound up missing the first ten minutes of his next class, one hand down the front of his jeans as he hid out in a cubicle in the bathroom.

*

Thanksgiving came by and Jonathan was tied up with his family. The smell of turkey permeated the walls of the small house, getting into Jonathan's clothes and hair. It erased the scent of Steve, though he still wore the red-and-white scarf, tucking one end down the front of his shirt, just as Steve had done for him. His mother complimented it, causing Jonathan to blush and duck his head. She would have guessed the finer details by now, he reasoned, an idea that left him blushing even deeper.

The note that Joyce had left with his late dinner on that Saturday night kept turning over in his head. She hadn't brought it up again, though he could see her holding back the words. Jonathan didn't even know how to ask, even after Steve had swung by on the Saturday after Thanksgiving to watch _Rocky IV_. The movie had engrossed Steve more than Jonathan had expected, but he still sat close next to him, their hands entwined. While he considered raising the question of dinner, he held back. It felt too much too soon. Steve almost brought it out of him when he kissed him right before he left, right up against the door, his hand coaxing Jonathan's away from the handle. He couldn't possibly interrupt something as sweet, as wonderful as this, by asking something like if Steve wanted to come over for dinner.

As much as he tried to talk himself out of it, though, Jonathan had to admit he did want that. On some level, he wanted Steve to come over when Jonathan's mother and brother were home. To sit at the kitchen table, as rickety as it was, and share a meal, just the four of them. It was difficult to get the words out, though, and it implied a situation that he wasn't sure the two of them were ready to tackle yet.

The date, as spontaneous as it felt, had been a shift for them. There was a weight to their relationship now that hadn't been there before. While on a few weeks ago, Jonathan had tossed and turned, over-analysing things he'd said or actions he'd taken, now he lay awake wondering if he could take Steve's hand without asking, if he could lean over and kiss his cheek in the middle of a movie, if he could organise a date himself. In a way, dating Nancy had been so much simpler because his biggest concern had been figuring out how to tell her he was gay.

As November faded into December, which brought with it the first frost of the season and a light dusting of early snow that melted with the late-rising sun, he and Steve found themselves falling into a rhythm. Saturday afternoon was still their time, and Jonathan began staying out after work to grab dinner with Steve at the diner. The breakfast-for-lunch was substituted for nachos, which Jonathan helped himself to. Steve also began stopping by on Thursdays; Jonathan worked the late shift, and Steve would come by with a meal that was more substantial than the extra sandwich Jonathan would typically pack. He wouldn't stay for the full movie, just long enough to chat and talk about their day. They'd call on Mondays, Jonathan dragging the phone into the kitchen for as much privacy as he could have, sitting on the floor as it didn't reach as far as the table, listening as Steve groaned about class and work and whatever else deserved bitching about. Sometimes he'd say that he missed Jonathan, in a bashful way as though he couldn't quite believe it himself.

Jonathan tried his best to not plan a dinner for the four of them. He wanted to, he did. By the time he and Nancy announced their relationship to his mother, she'd already become part of the fold. Dinners had been had, bread had been broken. There had been a general feeling around Joyce that she was mildly surprised by it, an expression that Jonathan came to realise some months later was because she had been expecting a different kind of announcement from her eldest son. But this was a different kettle of fish now, and he found himself longing, in a strange sort of way, for the milestones most people experienced in their first relationships.

He'd get tongue-tied, though, every time the idea would pop back up in his head. There would be Steve, with a warm toasted sandwich or coffee and a muffin on a Thursday evening, or a bag full of math books for kids on a Saturday, or on the other end of the line, asking him how his Monday had been, and the words would be gone. He wasn't just worried about scaring him off; Jonathan was afraid of losing this before it had even truly started.

*

Little Harper Leia Booker was born on Friday, December 13th, at eleven fifty-six PM. Steve got his way with the name – at least partly. He and his family had started driving up late Thursday afternoon when it became apparent his sister wouldn't last until the weekend. As he regaled the story to Jonathan on the phone, he could hear someone in the background - possibly his mother, who had accompanied them despite Paulette being her daughter, or a paternal aunt, it wasn't clear - kvetching about how unfortunate it was that the baby had to come on such an unlucky day. 

'Oh my fucking God,' Steve groaned down the phone. 'She hasn't shut up about this for hours. Nobody fucking cares.'

Jonathan hadn't realised until the call that early Sunday morning, after a too-brief one made from a payphone when they stopped at the state line to refuel that he would miss Steve so much. It had only been a few days, but Jonathan had found himself staring at the door and empty chair in the projection room. Even Doug had asked where his friend had gone. When Jonathan explained, Doug asked him to pass on his congratulations. It turned out that his granddaughter, Sabrina, attended the same speech therapy school as Dustin, and had started being tutored by Steve, which answered Jonathan's ongoing question as to how Steve hadn't been kicked out of the projection room.

Photos arrived a week later, with an apology from Steve for not being as skilled as Jonathan. He was more bothered by the fact they were Polaroids, but he wasn't about to complain. There were photos of Steve, carefully holding the precious cargo. Jonathan always thought babies looked more like gremlins, but there was something sweet about the photos Steve had sent. Harper was small, with dark eyes and wispy, curly hair. There were photos of Steve with his sister and her husband, Harper nestled between them. Steve looked like his sister, who was tall and broad-shouldered, with a shock of frizzy, blonde hair that was barely held back in a scrunchie.

The Harringtons had already planned to stay in Chicago over Christmas. Jonathan tried to not get his hopes up about a phone call, already knowing his own family couldn't afford the interstate charges. His gift for Steve was sitting on his desk in his bedroom, between the early acceptance letter from a college he'd applied to and his math homework. He wasn't all that sold on the college that had accepted him, and the fat envelope had been ready only once. He was still waiting for NYU, his dream college.

To his surprise and delight, Steve called at midday. He melted at the sound of his voice, pulling a chair over from the kitchen table as he curled up and asked how his Christmas was going. He sounded tired, and admitted with a muffled voice, as though he was trying to cover the receiver of the phone, that he was looking forward to heading home. Jonathan was quiet for a long moment as he took that in, deliberately ignoring Will as he walked in and stuck a finger in his mouth, pretending to gag. With a good-natured roll of his eyes, Jonathan flipped him the bird and turned to rest against the wall. Will hadn't treated him any differently since finding out that Jonathan as gay, and that he may or may not be actually dating a guy. Sure, maybe Jonathan had always known that his younger brother wouldn't care, but the concern had definitely been there. It buoyed him when Will asked him to give Steve his best, then, with a drawl, for Jonathan to give Steve his love with a roll of his eyes and another gagging noise. At least he could trust his brother to stay the same.

*

Steve returned back to Hawkins the day before New Year's Eve. After some flip-flopping, he'd finally decided to go to a college party that one of his friends was throwing. He and Jonathan met up at the diner for their usual lunch. They sat at a booth, their feet pressing under the table. It was as close as they'd get to holding hands in public.

They exchanged Christmas presents. Jonathan had bought Steve a scarf to replace the one Steve had given him. It was red-and-white, made of thick wool, and came with a matching beanie. He wasn't sure if Steve would like the beanie, given his hair had finally gotten long enough to style it as she had during his junior year, but Steve still shoved it on, crushing his quiff. There was something else Jonathan wanted to gift him, but it was still at home, tucked away. He'd give it to him later, in a more private moment when he was sure Steve would be able to appreciate it.

In turn, Steve had gotten him a new case for his camera. He had remembered the make and model in order to find him something that would fit it. It had a supple leather strap and shell, with a firm, albeit well padded, interior. He'd also purchased him a book from the gallery he had mentioned during his last trip to Chicago, which Jonathan flicked through, utterly rapt. When he looked up, Steve was watching him with an unmistakably fond look.

After being without Steve for two weeks, Jonathan didn't want to seem too attached (or, worse, _clingy_ ) by admitting he had missed him. He would love to spend New Year's Eve with him. It was good and healthy, though, for Steve to have friends who wanted to spend time with him. After being so alone in his last year and a half of high school, it was wonderful to see that he'd made friends. It did sting just a little, though. Will was having Dustin over and Nancy's folks were having some family-only event that she seemed bored by. She also seemed to be mooning over some guy, and Jonathan half-expected she would try to and slip out to spend time with him.

'I'll call you at midnight,' Steve promised. Then, with a squint, 'if I'm not drunk. And if the music's not too loud. I'll do my best'

Jonathan tried to not get too hurt by that. He was sure a lot of other people might not even get that. Attempting to smooth his tight smile out as much as possible, he swallowed hard, nodded, and turned back to the toasted sandwich he'd ordered. Telling himself to not get all to hung up by it, he kept his eyes down and busied himself with eating. Besides, a college party (even if it was only community college, Steve always added with a sigh whenever referring to Ivy Tech) was likely a lot more fun than a quiet night at the Byers.

*

Clapping his hands, Jonathan tried to get the attention of both Will and Dustin without scaring either of them into tumbling off the roof. God, he wished his mother hadn't let them up there. Will cried something about the view being great and Dustin appeared to holler in agreement. Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighed heavily and shook his head. Any other year he would have been content to spend it with his family. Even the year before, he and Nancy had spent it apart, doing things with their younger siblings. It hadn't been all that big a deal. He'd been in a relationship then, he was in a relationship now, and people always said the best were the ones where the couple could spend time apart and grow as individuals. Steve hadn't really spurned Jonathan by spending New Year's with his college friends. They weren't even a couple – not really.

A part of him knew he shouldn't take it all that personally. Steve had a right to spend time with his friends, even if he had spent the past two weeks in a complete different state. Even so, going into the city to spend New Year's Eve with a group of people his own age was probably a better plan. But even though the Byers home could never compare to a night in the city, it wasn't completely awful. On the roof, they had a good view out over the farmland, where Hank, who worked with Jonathan's mother, had a plot of land. He didn't grow anything on it (except the odd marijuana plant, that Jonathan wasn't meant to know about and was a fairly open secret in this neck of the words), and he would light fireworks on major holidays, as well as some minor ones. Hopper had long since stopped trying to get him to quit it, especially once El had taken a shine to the bright lights in the sky. It had only escalated after she'd seen _Close Encounters of the Third Kind_ at the Byers home one evening.

Jonathan supposed he could have asked Steve if he could come along, maybe. Not that he really wanted to, but it wouldn't have hurt to ask. Even if Jonathan didn't go out often, it was always nice to be invited. As it was, his mother actually seemed to be having a good time, stoking the bonfire on the front lawn and playing music on the radio loud enough for it to come through the door. All Jonathan could think about, though, was the fun Steve was likely having. He wanted to be happy for him, and in a way he was, but for once he couldn't deny he wished he had more company than his mother and a couple of fourteen-year-old boys.

'Shouldn't they come down?' he asked, watching as Joyce skewered several marshmallows and set them on a plate for the boys to roast.

'I'll call them down before midnight.'

'They could fall.'

Joyce levelled him with a stare and deliberately pulled out her packet of cigarettes. He knew she wasn't being irresponsible. Only a few years ago, Jonathan had been the one up on the roof, laughing and calling out all he could see. Now it was Will's turn to experience it. Joyce's tight grip on her youngest son had been steadily loosened over the year, her knuckle-white hold on him peeling back inch by inch until he was permitted to leave her sight for full day. Sitting on the roof, rugged up and throwing sparklers at the road had been a childhood tradition. It also hadn't rained since two days before Christmas, and it hadn't snowed since the start of December.

'Fine. _Fine_ ,' he muttered, pulling his sweater sleeves down further. 

Prince's 1999 was playing on the radio as Jonathan grabbed one of the skewers of melted chocolate and roasted marshmallows and marched up to the road. It only made him think of Steve, who would tear down the road, which made his heart ache and stomach twist. He could hear Will and Dustin yelling out the chorus in a rhythmic chant as he hit the asphalt. Smacking his yellow-threaded boots on the side, he watched a puff of smoke pass his lips, just as a pair of headlights lit up at the end of the road. At first he thought it might be Hopper (and El in tow, possibly, who was apparently attending the police station's New Year's Eve party) coming up to check on them. He was certain he'd heard Joyce and Hopper planning something to that effect a few nights earlier, but he hadn't thought it would occur until after midnight, when the biggest revelries had died down and the chief could scuttle off. It was rare anyone drove down this road, except to reach the farms at the very end. There were quicker ways in and out of town, instead of the gravel-strewn bitumen and tree root-cracked asphalt that littered their road.

As the car neared, though, Jonathan began to hear the same synth beat that was blasting from the house coming from the car. He didn't want to hold out hope, but the music was unmistakable. Jonathan recognised the maroon hood, the kidney grilles on the front. Baffled, he looked back at the house and then at the car as it pulled to a stop, just off the road. The headlights were blinding and dazzled him; he had a hand raised to cover his face, and he didn't immediately see Steve stepping out of the car. He only looked back once the lights were switched off and the door slammed shut.

'Hey, you.'

Steve. All long hair and bashful smiles. He looked utterly ridiculous in the sheepskin coat he had on, the wool collar pulled up to his face. He was, however, also wearing the tartan scarf Jonathan had bought him for Christmas. The beanie was also sticking out of the coat pocket, the pompom sewn on top dangling down and rocking as he walked. He was wearing his glasses, which kept catching the flames from the bonfire.

It was Steve. Impossibly, wonderfully Steve.

He was also standing in front of him, five minutes to midnight, on New Year's Eve. He was meant to be in Bloomington, with his college friends, in the city, definitely not in Hawkins, where Jonathan currently was. Drinking him in to the background noise of Prince singing about the end of the world and Joyce calling to Will and Dustin to come down to light the last of the sparklers in time for the countdown, Jonathan took a breath. The air between them filled with condensation.

'You're not meant to be here,' Jonathan replied coolly. He didn't want to sound ungrateful, just that he hadn't been utterly hoping for this.

'I know. I came back.'

'Why?'

Jonathan hadn't meant to ask why. He was still struggling to comprehend that Steve was right in front of him. Out of all the places he could possibly go on New Year's Eve, he had come back to Hawkins - a thirty minute trip in the best of times - just to see him. His mother must have seen the car, must have known who it was, as she hadn't come over, hadn't called to ask who it was.

From the roof came a delighted cry from Dustin. A moment later, Steve's name was called out. With a quiet laugh, Steve leant towards the light that was spilling forth from the house and waved up at the roof. Glancing over his shoulder, Jonathan spotted Will carefully climbing down the ladder and back to the safety of the ground. Joyce was standing at the foot of the ladder, ready to catch either boy, as though she was in any position to rescue them if they fell. Dustin was hot on Will's heels (well, fingertips), and Jonathan winced as he imagined the two of them coming over to interrupt the small reunion. A wave of relief came over him when he heard his mother call out to the younger two, coaxing them towards the bonfire to stay warm and help cook the s'mores. As their laughter turned back to the house, Jonathan grit his teeth and rocked back and forth on his heels.

As though sensing Jonathan's turmoil, Steve glanced past Jonathan's shoulder. Slowly, carefully, he leant over and took hold of his wrist. With his thumb brushing over Jonathan's palm, he took a few steps back, until they were cloaked in the shadows of the trees that hung heavily over the road. Steve only stopped until he was standing beside to the passenger side door of the car, Jonathan positioned in front of him.

'Steve?'

Steve's eyes very slowly slid back to Jonathan. A soft smile swept over his lips, as did a look of gleeful mischief that always came across his face when he was on the cusp of saying something he'd been churning over for a while. Deep within his chest, Jonathan felt a rhythmic pattering, a wave of anxiety and anticipation rolling over him.

'I told them I'd rather spend it with my boyfriend.'

' _Seriously_?'

Taking a moment, Steve rolled his eyes to the dark sky. Jonathan could feel his heart pounding in his temples, his breath suddenly lost as he took in _that_ word. The one he hadn't even realised he'd been hoping for, waiting for. For an awful moment, he thought he was going to topple right over. He was giddy. God, he felt like an idiot, a blushing schoolgirl, but he was _giddy_. He was sure it was cold, and maybe his fingers had gone completely numb, but he couldn't feel the air anymore. Just Steve, with his hand taking hold of Jonathan's, watching him with a slight smirk tugging on his lips; he could have been blushing, too. It was hard to tell in the dim light from the house.

'Not in so many words. I told them I'd rather be spending it with someone special.'

'Oh- _ohh_.'

'I could tell I'd disappointed you. But I did want to spend it with my boyfriend. With you.'

He wasn't disappointed, not any more. He hadn't expected Steve to use _that_ word about him among others. Hell, Jonathan hadn't expected him to use _that_ word at all. But he had. He had, and he'd meant it, and Jonathan couldn't think because Steve had pulled him in for a kiss. They were close enough to his house that they could be seen, that Joyce or Will or Dustin could see, but Steve was kissing him all the same. He was kissing him, and it wasn't even midnight yet, and Steve had called him his _boyfriend_ of all things. The fingertips on his face were like ice, and Jonathan was suddenly hit by how cold it was. Burying his hands under the thick, sheepskin coat, clutching at Steve's cashmere sweater, he stepped Steve backwards until he was pressed back against the car window and door. An arm was tossed around his shoulders and Jonathan was tugged in closer until he was right up against Steve. For a second, it felt like they were back on the hill, overlooking Hawkins.

Prince gave way to a-ha. It ticked over to midnight and, somewhere to the west, Hank had lit off the fireworks. Jonathan could hear them, even if he couldn't see them. All that mattered right then was Steve. Maybe the road in front of the Byers household wasn't as exciting as a college party in the city, and maybe he wasn't as cool as a bunch of college students. But Steve had chosen him and _here_ and this moment, and he'd used _that_ word. Jonathan didn't need fireworks in the distant when he had them right in front of him, in his arms.


	19. xix. 1030 - Pete's Dragon

At half past midnight, Hopper and El came by. The Byers and their guests had already crowded into the living room, chased inside by the cold, an odd assortment of people that had only all been in the same room once before, well over a year ago now. El gushed about the party at the station, small events like that still a novelty to her. Joyce poured herself, Jonathan, Steve and Hopper a glass of port each, with just a small mouthful for each of the younger guests. Enough to have a taste, she had said. Will, well accustomed to the Byers tradition by now (something that occurred at each major celebration, including birthdays) happily imbibed the alcohol, while Dustin and El both gave confused and pained expressions that made the adults laugh.

As the youngest teens tried to goad each other into staying awake, Joyce began quietly asking Steve if he'd be staying the night. Jonathan could see the mild panic begin entering his mother's eyes, her mind clearly ticking over into areas she had tried to not give much thought. It was one thing for her eldest boy to be dating, and for them to delicately side-step what that involved. It was another for her to suddenly come face-to-face with the person who may very well be sharing Jonathan's bed that night. It wasn't even something Jonathan himself had really considered at that point.

'Should I set up a spot for El on the couch while I'm at it?' he uttered in his mother's ear, while El put her hands on her hips and began arguing with Dustin over who had ever stayed up the longest. Jonathan was fairly certain Will would win that argument, with the insomnia he still suffered thanks to his PTSD, but he seemed quite content to smile tiredly at the pair of them.

It wasn't a question that El would be staying over; at some point, Hopper had started coming over more frequently, with his adoptive daughter in tow. Jonathan had never questioned it, just as Joyce had never questioned his relationship with Steve. These things just were and the more intimate details could be conveniently ignored.

With his mother distracted by the sleeping arrangements for the youngest under her roof right then, Jonathan took Steve by the wrist, too shy to take his hand while in the company of others (and uncertain if he ought to advertise their relationship) and led him down the hallway. They walked the same steps they had a lifetime ago, when chased by something far more terrifying and ghastly than jeers from his youngest brother and friends. Jonathan took note of the way Steve made a funny hop-step over a spot on the floor that had once held a bear trap. The scorch marks had long disappeared with the reworking of the floor, but Steve seemed to sense where it had once been. The door was shut behind them and Jonathan pressed against it, trying to ignore the fact he had another boy in his bedroom.

Steve wanted to dance.

As Jonathan wondered if his bedroom was clean enough and began to dig around for a pair of washed pyjama bottoms for his guest ( _boyfriend_ ) to wear, Steve began to pick through the various cassette tapes on Jonathan's chest of drawers. Finding one, he stuck it in the stereo and hit play. 

The experimental, psychedelic tones of the Zombies' Time of the Season began to ring out in the quiet of the room. With a pair of loose trackpants thrown over his arm, Jonathan watched as Steve began to sway to the beat. The port hadn't been at all strong, even with the little he'd eaten that day, but there was something hypnotising about the way Steve's hips moved. Back and forth, his whole body rocked with the bass and keyboard.

He reached out a hand. Drawn towards him, Jonathan tossed the pants on the bed and took it. Pulled in, he found himself pressed against Steve's chest. Breathing in sharply, Jonathan locked eyes with him, his hands gripping Steve's biceps. He was singing, just loud enough that Jonathan caught a few notes, before he began humming in time with the rhythm.

Steve spun around. He moved gracefully, sliding up behind Jonathan with a smooth, feline-type liquid finesse. His hands roamed over Jonathan's body as he tightened his arms around him. He was warm, his body firm, and Jonathan could feel every ripple, every tug of tendon and sinew as he was pulled back against his chest. Eyes shut, he let his head fall back against Steve's shoulder, shivering slightly as he felt hot air against the side of his neck. 

' _What's your name? Who's your daddy?_ '

The lyrics were sung softly in his ear, a sensuality applied to them that Jonathan had never really considered before. Distantly, he could acknowledge that Steve was grinding against him, a low, burning arousal developing within him. Jonathan wasn't so afraid of it anymore. He might not be quite ready to admit that he'd spent quite a few hours in this room, imagining something similar. It still didn't compare to the actual feeling of Steve's hands sliding down his front, skimming over his belly and dancing over his thighs as Steve felt him all over. Slowly, wonderfully, taking his time to press him in closer.

' _He rich-_ '

' _Is he rich like me?_ '

Jonathan still wasn't fond of singing in front of others, but it was fun to join in and hear Steve finish it off. When he dared to flutter his eyes open, he found Steve smiling down at him. Cheeky and dark and wanting. Lifting his head, he closed the gap between them, kissing him as deeply as he dared. He'd never been touched like Steve was doing right then, nobody had ever purred at him as they sang and slid a hand between his legs to grip - 

There was a squeal of laughter somewhere in the room next to his. Both he and Steve startled and looked towards the wall as there was a smack against the wall. Hopper called out for the kids to quiet down, and Jonathan took that as the moment to turn the stereo off. Steve suddenly yawned, looking just as surprised as Jonathan did by it. 

It felt utterly natural to shuck their jeans. Steve pulled on the pair of trackpants, while Jonathan found his worn, cotton pyjama bottoms. They slid each set up over their underwear; Jonathan couldn't help but eyeball the Calvin Klein logo that dotted the elastic of Steve's briefs. Switching the light off, he listened as Steve crawled into his bed, which creaked and squeaked under the weight of both of them. 

The dark claimed them. There was a sliver of light that came from under the door but was snuffed out when a door somewhere down the hallway shut. An arm was tossed over Jonathan's middle, and he suddenly felt Steve clambering close to him, his head resting upon his chest. Dizzy with it all, Jonathan carefully lifted up his arm and wrapped it around Steve's shoulders, assuming that was what was meant to be done.

Steve asked him to tell a story. Taking a moment, Jonathan ran through all the different ones he knew. Ones he had been told, those he'd told Will. As his fingers carded through Steve's hair, he began to whisper the one he kept coming back to.

There had once been a sweet orphan girl who sold her wares at a local market. Merchants from all over the country would come and ask her to marry them, but she refused each one. One day, a wicked sorcerer came and tried to trick her into marrying him. Seeing through his guise, she refused. Enraged, he transformed her into a majestic firebird and himself into a dragon. Picking her up, he flew away with her to his cairn. The firebird, refusing to succumb to imprisonment, shed her feathers and they rained down upon her poor village, until nothing of her remained. Only those who sought to make the world a better place would see the burning rainbow that was embedded in the feathers. Those true of heart would be able to spread her beauty around the world.

Steve was quiet after. Jonathan wondered if he had fallen asleep, until he spoke so quietly that it seemed as though he were afraid to break the moment between them.

'Who's the firebird?'

With a breath, Jonathan took his time to consider the question. His eyes had become so heavy all of a sudden and it felt impossible to keep them open. Even so, he nudged Steve closer and kissed his brow, before uttering, 'you are'. One day, he knew Steve would be able to escape the dragon that haunted Hawkins and spread his own rainbow.

*

He awoke to the sound of feet running up and down the hallway. There was a hiss, someone shushing another, and then more soft footsteps. It was too early and the steps were too light to be Joyce or Hopper. Groaning, Jonathan rubbed his face and peered at his alarm. It was only a hair past nine. Rubbing his face into his pillow, he stretched, knowing he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, and turned his head.

Steve slept like a starfish. He lay on his stomach, a limb pointing at each corner of that bed. That mean that through the night, an arm had remained draped on Jonathan's chest and a leg was tossed over his own. Furthermore, Steve ran hot like a furnace. There was little need to keep a blanket pulled up when Steve slept beside him.

When Jonathan rolled over, he came face-to-face with Steve. Before he could brace himself, he was pulled over, his mouth suddenly being kissed. Steve was hard. The pressure of it against Jonathan's hip made him gasp as he surged forward, embracing Steve in his arms. With a moan, they collided together, trying to remain as still and as quiet as possible as the bed creaked. 

There had been times when he had imagined this. Maybe not with Steve (except for in his most daring moments, as he'd chased dreams of letters that had been sent and a mouth on his while old movies played in the background), but with someone. Anyone. It only happening during private moments Jonathan had rutted against his hand and mattress, groaning as quietly as he was able. It had been a fantasy he'd indulged in, during his loneliest moments, lamenting being the only queer in all of Hawkins. And now here he was, laying in bed with someone who had called him his _boyfriend_ the night before, and Steve was pulling him on top, with a hungry mouth and demanding, claiming hands grabbing him all over.

Steve's tongue ran over the front of his throat. Shuddering, Jonathan felt his hips surge forward, right against Steve. The material of their pants was thin, well-worn, and it provided far more intimate friction than their jeans had not all that long ago. The space between sleep and lucidity was also far thinner than Jonathan had expected, and he toed the line as he squirmed. They had to be silent, as frustrating as it was, and Jonathan kept biting his lower lip to hold back his moans.

Unexpectedly, he felt Steve's hand slide down the back of his pants. The elastic of his boxers was lifted and thick fingers slipped in, a warm hand suddenly gripping his ass. Gasping, Jonathan burrowed his face into Steve's neck. In response, he reached between them and felt for Steve's erection. Without asking or looking, he was gripping him through the trackpants he'd loaned him the night before. He was thick and curved to the right, the perfect shape for Jonathan's hand. Moaning against Jonathan's shoulder, Steve's nails bit into his skin as he writhed underneath.

There was laughter in the hallway, someone telling another person to hush. Jonathan wanted to take their advice, as he bit his lip and rutted against Steve's hip and his own wrist. He longed to pull their pants down, to actually take Steve into his hand, but he didn't dare move. The bed was already struggling and creaking underneath them, each noise seeming to be amplified in the quiet, New Year's morning. Their combined panting pounded in his ears, Steve's hazy eyes and swollen lips filling his vision as he looked at him, far clearer than he had in the car. 

He came with a gasp. Heat flooded over him as he felt Steve twitch and writhe underneath. Their mouths collided together, bodies crashing as the bed smacked, just once, against the wall.

*

Leaning over Steve, Jonathan groped about in the dresser by the bed. Steve was tucked up beside him, dozing in and out of sleep. It sounded like the kids (not kids, _teens_ , Jonathan's mind peskily reminded him) had settled in the living room to watch MTV. There had been no sound from his mother's bedroom, and he tried not to wonder if that just meant they were being more successful at being quiet than he and Steve had been.

Finding a stack of papers, some stapled together, others folded in the corner, Jonathan turned back to Steve. Sitting up slightly, Jonathan watched as Steve rubbed his cheek on the pillow as he stirred again. Blinking up at him, he rubbed his face as he tried to figure out what Jonathan was doing. Sitting up and yawning, he grabbed one of the pages and blinked as he tried to read it. Finally, giving up, Steve blindly batted around the dresser and grabbed his delicate frames. Sliding his glasses on, he finally read the front page of one of the pamphlets Jonathan had handed over.

They were applications to various colleges in New York City, all focusing on film. City College, The New School, Tisch, Pace. Jonathan had started going over them when he'd been trying to pick places to apply beyond NYU, and had started coming up with ideas for where Steve could go after he finished at Ivy Tech. Some of the colleges were little more than glorified community colleges with a far more focused field, but others offered three or four-year degrees. But, best of all, they were all outside Hawkins.

'What- what are- '

'It's just an idea,' Jonathan said, passing the rest of the application for Pace that Steve had taken just the top page for, the top corner bent over. 'But I was thinking... if you were looking for somewhere to go... storyboard artists are a lot like comic book artists. You could work alongside a director or producer on a film. Or you could get into script reading.'

Jonathan passed over the application for City College.

'You'd probably want to get a degree in something to do with film editing or creative writing, but it's still a lucrative job. I mean, that's what I've read, I really don't know, but I could see you enjoying it. I think you've missed the cut-off for Tisch, but the others take late- Steve?'

Steve had taken all of the applications. Staring at them, he looked over each of them, baffled. Some of them Jonathan had been able to take directly from the school counsellor, while others he'd had to call and send off requests for. They'd been late coming in the mail, and he hadn't had time to figure out a way to wrap them. Even now, he felt a little stupid, handing them over like this. Looking over, he watched as Steve covered his mouth, his face burrowing into his hand. Gently, Jonathan lowered the last of the pages he still held and rested his hand on Steve's forearm.

'Steve?'

With a hiccup, Steve lunged towards Jonathan. His arms wrapped around him as he crushed the applications between them, his mouth leaving a series of kisses over Jonathan's face, jaw, neck, thanking him in a series of hiccups and choked noises. This time, Jonathan didn't worry so much as the bed creaked.

*

Jonathan and Will had had a tradition since New Year's Day in 1981 that they watched _Pete's Dragon_ at ten-thirty AM while having a breakfast of leftovers from dinner the night before. It was an awful movie, and as Jonathan got older, he began to despise the movie more and more. Joyce had refused to buy it when it was released on video, and now, five years later, Jonathan could understand why. Even Will seemed confused about why they had been so enraptured by it as they watched it that morning. There was a sense of camaraderie, though, as they subjected their unwitting guests to a rousing rendition of Passamaquoddy. 

'Is this how you felt when I showed you _Fame_?' Steve muttered in his ear.

Snickering, Jonathan propped his feet up on the coffee table as he folded the cold pizza he was eating in half and bit into it. The whole tradition seemed utterly baffling to both Steve and Hopper, though the rest of the people crowding around the TV (far smaller that the Harrington's) didn't seem to mind. Dustin sat on Steve's other side, initially confused at first as to why Steve had come around but not seeming to question it too much. Hopper, too, occasionally passed the two a curious look, but Jonathan saw his mother raise a finger to her lips and shake her head in Hopper's direction when she thought no one was looking. This may not have been the first meal that neither Jonathan nor Joyce had quite expected to have with Steve, but there was a warmth to it, a familial sense that the Byers as a whole cherished.

'It's a good movie,' Jonathan teased.

'No. No, it really isn't.'

'It's as good as _Fame_.'

'That's a filthy lie and you know it.'

Smiling to himself, Jonathan took the last bite of his pizza. Grabbing a blanket from where one of the young teens had discarded it, he picked it up and spread it over his cold legs. Steve distractedly grabbed the other end, squinting at the TV through his glasses and long bangs and shook his head in mild disbelief. Under the blanket, his hand rested on Jonathan's thigh, as though it had always belonged there. With a content sigh, Jonathan rested his own hand atop it, their fingers folding together.


	20. xx. intermission d

School started up again and Jonathan fell back into the daily grind of study, homework and The Hawk. There was a gentle monotony that he enjoyed, a rhythm that he could fall into. In just a few short months, his whole life would be upended and Jonathan knew he'd miss it. His acceptance letter for NYU had arrived only two days prior, a fat envelope sitting on his desk, opened and tossed about, memories of delighted hugs and quickly quashed fretful looks filling the pages. The remains of the celebratory port had been shared that night between himself, Joyce and Will. He'd called Steve later that night, when he knew he'd be home from basketball practice. The felicitations had poured from him, until there had been a catch in his throat.

He hadn't turned up to Jonathan's shift at The Hawk the following day. Mildly panicked, Jonathan called him when he arrived home, and Steve had said he'd been caught up at the library. The apologies were as bountiful as his congratulations, but the catch had been thicker. A question about whether Jonathan ought to come over had been dismissed, and Steve promised to speak to him on Sunday. And now he sat, turning his head to eyeball the phone on the wall, tossing up whether he should call or not. The house was empty, Joyce acting as one of the parental assistants at Will's dress rehearsal of _Bye Bye Birdie_ , and Jonathan wasn't sure what he should do. His homework was done, he didn't feel like reading, he hated whatever was playing on TV (and he hadn't even checked), and mostly he was _restless_. 

There was the sound of tyres on gravel. He recognised that engine now, the heft of the car on the dirt driveway. Launching himself up, he lunged to the door and threw it open. Steve's distinctive maroon car pulled up behind his own. Stepping out onto the porch, he watched as Steve stumbled out, clutching a handful of pages that he recognised as the applications he had given him only three weeks earlier. Rubbing a hand over his face, Steve staggered up to the porch, his sunglasses pushed onto the top of his head. 

He looked like hell. Steve's typically tanned, olive skin, even in the dead of winter, seemed pale. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, which were red and watery. Reaching over, Jonathan clasped a hand around Steve's bicep, pulling himself in. Swaying back and forth, Steve blinked slowly at him, taking a moment to centre himself. It was still only the middle of the morning, barely ten, but Steve could barely keep his eyes open.

'Steve, are you- when did you last sleep?' Jonathan asked, taking the pages when Steve handed them over.

Steve yawned. The pop in his jaw was audible, likely a remnant of the injury bestowed upon him back in '84. Considering the question, he pressed the heel of his hand into his eye, humming as he thought it over. The length of time it took him to respond was answer enough. Jonathan didn't even think he ought to be driving.

'Hm. Friday? I slept a few hours on Friday night, but- but, y'know, I found out the Tisch cut-offs are actually next week, so I don't think I'll get that one in on time, but Pace is the end of the month. So- so I wanted to, I wanted to fill these in and- _Jesus_ , I'm _so_ tired, baby.'

Jonathan's heart melted. As he held the applications between his palm and thumb, he rested his hand on the side of Steve's face. With a sigh, he pulled him in and kissed him carefully, just once on the lips. It still made him shiver to do just that, such a simple gesture that spoke so much. When he pulled away, he tugged him across with his arm sliding around his waist. Guiding him inside, he set the pages down on the couch and led Steve to the bathroom. His skin was greasy, his hair slicked back and unwashed, and while he wouldn't actually admit it to Steve, he smelt of sweat, stale coffee and day-old pizza.

'Shower. I'll set some clothes out for you. Go to sleep, I'll wake you up for dinner.'

'Jon- '

' _Steve_.'

He used the tone of voice Joyce sometimes used on him, when he was antsy and looking for a fight. And, just as what inevitably happened each time with his mother, Steve immediately cowed to it. With a firm push between his shoulders, he staggered to the bathroom. Jonathan watched him go, catching just a glimpse of Steve pulling his sweater over his head before he kicked the door shut with his foot. As the pipes groaned, rattling the way they always did when the hot water was initially turned on, he went to his bedroom and dug out some clean clothes. Sweatpants, t-shirt, deciding to forgo the underwear as that felt a little too close and a touch unnecessary.

When Steve left the bathroom, Jonathan was in the living room, reading over the first application for The New School. Placed in between each page of the entry essays were drafts, some hastily scrawled, all kept together with paperclips. He could see the precise point when exhaustion had begun to kick in. The writing became sloppy in the drafts, the ink smearing in parts. But on the final versions of the essays, the writing was neat, precise. Craning his head back, he watched as Steve left the bathroom, water dripping down his back, with a bottle green towel wrapped around his middle. He disappeared further down the corridor, Jonathan's bedroom door squeaking as he stepped inside. There was a thud as he hit the mattress and then silence.

Scratching his cheek, Jonathan began to read the essays. Propping his feet up on the coffee table, he settled in and studied what were likely the final versions, neatly written out as much as an exhausted Steve could handle. While English was Jonathan's best subject and he could churn out essay after essay, it was clear in parts that Steve still struggled a little with essays. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep or maybe these types of assignments just weren't ever going to be his strong suit. But through the muddled sentences and mixed up paragraphs, there was a clear understanding of abstract ideas. Steve knew what he wanted to communicate, he was just having difficulty in making sense of it.

Picking through the corresponding drafts, Jonathan began to compare the two. Each college had a different essay requirement, and while some applications were missing a page or two of the drafts, Jonathan was still able to make sense of them. The rough versions were composed of the bare bones, the skeleton of the final essay. Where the final versions had started to lose their path and flow, the drafts contained them. Whether they were in dot points or a rough flow chart, Jonathan could see where Steve had started to form his ideas. A smile passed his lips as his thumb traced the notes that had been left behind. He'd been right in his guess that Steve would thrive as a script reader or storyboard artist.

Returning to one of the final essays, he grabbed a workbook he'd been writing in for class. Flipping to one of the back pages, he began to scratch out notes of his own. He didn't want to rewrite the whole thing, and he doubted Steve would appreciate that. He hummed as he made his comments, constructive feedback sandwiched between compliments. The applications he had given Steve had been carefully selected to avoid those that required a strong academic background. While the essay component on of the application still needed to be at a certain standard, Jonathan trusted Steve would be able to boost his application with his current grades at Ivy Tech, as well as letters of recommendation from his teachers, past and present. He might even be able to get a parent of one of the kids he tutored to write a letter of recommendation, too. Colleges generally viewed those sorts of things favourably. 

After the better part of an hour, he was done. Tapping his lower lip with his pen, he collected the pages, put them in order, and stood. Stretching, giving a yawn himself, he headed down the hallway. He heard Steve snoring before he even entered. There he was, curled up on his bed, nestled under blankets. His dirty clothes were discarded in a pile, as was the wet towel. As Jonathan set the pages down on the bedside table and crouched to grab the towel, he noticed the clean clothes he'd set out had fallen off the bed. Staring at them, holding the towel to his chest, Jonathan tried to ignore what that meant. Collecting Steve's clothes as well, he walked, as though in a daze, to the laundry and tossed everything in to be washed. There was probably a fancy, expensive way of washing Steve's clothes, but he couldn't bring himself to worry right then.

As the washing machine churned to life, he drifted back to the bedroom. Steve had rolled over. The blanket had fallen off, revealing an expanse of freckles across his back. The change in position meant his snoring had drifted to soft snuffles, his face burrowed in a pillow. Unsure what to do, Jonathan drifted around the bed. Pulling the curtains shut, he stood by the window at the grey sky. It looked like snow.

Uncertain what he was doing, he unbuttoned his jeans. Peeling them off, reasoning it wouldn't be so weird if he kept everything else on, he folded them in half and hung them over the back of his desk chair. Stepping to the bed, he pulled back the covers and slipped underneath. In the shadows he saw more tanned skin, the curve of a hip, a swell of a cheek he had grabbed two months earlier. Swallowing hard, he tried not to jolt as he felt a naked leg against his own bare skin. Sensing his warmth, Steve nudged closer, his eyes batting open his sleep, unfocused and still red, before tossing an arm over and pressing his face into Jonathan's neck. He was drooling. The dark circles had started to fade, though, and his skin was becoming flush again.

There was something hypnotising about Steve's breathing. His breath puffed against Jonathan's neck, rhythmic and enchanting. Jonathan hadn't known what he was doing when he crawled into bed beside him, but as the shadows in his bedroom grew shorter, the sun closing in on midday, he found his eyes growing heavy. Eventually, he turned his head to Steve's, kissed his brow just once, and found himself falling into a light doze.

He didn't know how long he slept for. When he awoke, he was laying on his side, the blankets pulled up to his chin and an arm tucked under his head. His eyes were slow to open, even slower to focus, but when they did, he found Steve looking back at him. He looked miles better, his cheeks rosy and flush, a healthy glow to him. 

'Sssteve?' Jonathan slurred, smacking his lips. 'Morning?'

'Afternoon,' Steve replied, sounding far more awake than Jonathan felt. 'Two.'

'Hm.'

Jonathan typically didn't nap. He felt groggy, slow to react. Scratching his cheek on his bicep, he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. When he yawned, Steve popped his finger in his mouth, snickering when Jonathan pulled a face. Nipping it, he tried to glare but failed miserably. Although Steve did look a little peaky still, he was smiling, his face no longer quite so puffy. Pinching the back of Steve's hand when the finger was pulled free, Jonathan smacked his lips and wiggled further under the blankets.

'I read your essays,' he finally said, his voice not quite as thick with sleep. He was beginning to wake up.

'Yeah?'

'They're good.'

'Bull,' Steve drawled, rolling his eyes.

Before he could pull away entirely, though, Jonathan shook his head and cupped Steve's face. Stopping, Steve eyed Jonathan cautiously, no doubt waiting for the penny to drop.

'They're good, Steve. Especially your drafts. I made some notes, made some corrections, and yeah, I could see when you were getting tired. But your drafts are good. There was a clear, linear thought pattern.'

The small mathematical quip was meant to appeal Steve's preferred subject. It had the intended effect. There was a small smile, soft and warm, before he reached over and cupped the back of Jonathan's head. Leaning over, he pressed their lips together in a soft kiss. 

All too quickly, Steve's state of undress came rushing back. The shift in position caused their bodies to come into line. Soft skin against his shirt and boxers, the heat radiating off him in waves. Steve's body was pliant from sleep, skin surprisingly supple as Jonathan dared to slide an arm around him to hold him close. 

_Oh_ , this was wonderful. Terrifying, yes, and Jonathan could feel his hand quivering as he placed it between Steve's shoulder blades. But it was wonderful. Strong muscles rippled under his hand as he moved in closer, his lips parting to allow Steve to swipe his tongue across his own. As his hand slid further down, Steve began to fall back, pulling Jonathan on top of him. He went along, the knowledge that Steve was nude beneath him equally in the forefront of his mind and utterly ignored.

At least he could pretend to ignore it, right up until his shirt was hauled up. Needy, desperate fingers pulled at the hem of his shirt, until Jonathan lifted his arms and allowed it to be pulled off and over his head. Steve's feet kicked at the socks he wore, until both were rolled off and were subsequently lost somewhere in the blankets of the bed, not to be found for several days. Before he knew it, Jonathan found his boxers being shucked down as well, until he kicked them off and away to join his socks, shivering as he felt their bare skin touching. He was so warm, to the point that Jonathan swore he was going to be scalded. He'd walk away with a Steve-shaped brand, all over his front.

' _Steve_ \- '

God, he could feel him. Not just arms and legs, but his chest, his stomach, hips and cock and thighs and everything else in between. It was so different to wearing clothes and grinding up against him. Eyes shut and mouth open, Jonathan managed to pull his hand free from where it had started to get tangled in the sheet and pushed against the mattress. If he looked surprised, then Steve looked astounded. Wide-eyed and lips apart, his back arching up when Jonathan lifted himself off him. 

Steve was hard again. Jonathan couldn't help but wonder if he always got hard when he slept, a bonus of essentially being an only child in a lonely household. Jonathan rarely had the pleasure of indulging in such a thing, needing to wake up at the crack of dawn to make the most of it. But here was Steve, hard again and shuddering underneath him as he lifted a leg and hooked it around the back of Jonathan's knees. Jonathan wanted to find out, to spend more mornings waking up next to him, to find out just how often it happened.

Their mouths crushed together again. Steve's fingers dug into his back, Jonathan's own sliding over his chest and shoulders, through his long hair that was still a little damp from the shower. It had begun to dry in soft curls, fanning over the pillow as Jonathan stroked his hand through it. A quiet moan came from Steve, his mouth open and damp on Jonathan's cheek as he shuddered and trembled beneath him.

'It was good, Steve. You're going to get in, I can tell,' he breathed, over Steve's cheek and jaw, down across his neck.

The dirty magazine Steve had bought him, still hidden somewhere under his mattress where prying eyes couldn't see, hadn't taught him how guys were meant to do this. Furthermore, the blue movies other guys his age sometimes spoke about didn't exactly cater to his particular tastes (at least the stores nearest Hawkins where he might be able to go without needing ID). But he could figure this out. He and Steve had done pretty well on their own the last two times they'd tried something similar.

His hand slid down. Under the covers, over Steve's body. The moment Steve picked up what he was doing, he helped guide it down, to where his erection nudged against Jonathan's hip. Wide-eyed, his eyes locked with Steve's as his fingers curled around it, shivering as he took hold of his erection. It was so different from the other times they'd rutted against each other. There was nothing to separate them, nothing to hide behind. Just warm bodies pressing against one another, their skin kissing before their lips did. 

Jonathan wasn't sure how to stroke Steve. The angle was different, the curve of Steve's cock unusual now that he had it in his hand. Steve's fingers danced over Jonathan's knuckles, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. As though reading the uncertainty on Jonathan's face (and he very likely could easily see it, it wasn't all that hard to take in), his hand folded around the one that held his cock and began to guide him. Slowly, easing it up and down, his breath beginning to come out in shallower, quick pants.

'Jon- '

That single-syllable pet name that he usually detested had become something he'd grown fond of, the utterance making Jonathan's heart beat quicker as he bowed his head and ran his tongue over the collection of fat freckles that lay upon Steve's neck. He could feel the rabbit-quick pace of Steve's pulse under his tongue, could feel the way the cords his neck tensed and relaxed as his chest heaved underneath Jonathan.

Steve's hands were all over him. His back, his arm, his shoulders, Jonathan realising all too late that Steve had let go of his hand and was letting him stroke him in his own rhythm. His head had fallen to the side, his mouth open as soft, desperate moans came from him. Jonathan littered kisses across his throat and up to the other side, when he felt Steve's hand finally dipping between them again as he sought out Jonathan's own cock.

'Wanna see you,' Jonathan groaned, not entirely realising what he was saying. 'Want- wanna see- '

For far too long, he'd fantasised about what Steve looked like. The magazine he'd been given had been flipped through time and time again, until it was battered and worn and he knew each picture by heart. He hadn't dared to seek out another one, and he certainly didn't want to ask Steve to get him a second. But now he had Steve in his hand, the velvety-soft skin utterly intoxicating. Steve's breath puffed against his temple and he felt him nod. Just slightly, a little stilted, as he pressed his free hand against Jonathan's shoulder and pushed him back.

Letting go, he fell backwards against the bed. The mattress squeaked and groaned underneath him as the blankets were tossed back. Scrambling up against the pillow, Jonathan sat up, a little dazed as Steve crawled on top of him. His lap was suddenly filled by Steve, limbs everywhere, his hands sliding up from his belly to brush over Jonathan's chest and to his shoulders. Jonathan didn't know where to look first. The tanned skin that continued on, over his body, down to his waist and hips. The freckles that danced over Steve's chest, partly hidden by dark curls. One, right near his arm pit, that Jonathan pressed his thumb to that caused Steve to jolt as though he were ticklish. It was something he wanted to explore later, when his bedroom door wasn't wide open and Steve wasn't on his lap, hard and wanting and waiting for him.

Further still. His sternum and ribs, that sucked in air, expanding under Jonathan's hands. Nipples hard, either from the cold or arousal, or perhaps both, Jonathan didn't care to think too long about it. Steve's navel, deeper than his own, until he couldn't hold back any longer and he found his eyes resting on Steve's cock. He was uncut. That was the first thing to strike Jonathan, though he realised he'd felt the loose skin, pulled back slightly from the head of his cock, when he'd been stroking him. There was a definitive curve as well, which Jonathan found himself tracing with his hand as he ran it down his length. A thick vein that ran underneath and over to the side. 

It took him a moment to realise Steve was looking at him too. Both their heads bowed, drinking in the other. There was a familiarity in Steve's body. All the parts were ones he had, and there was nothing outrageously peculiar about it, but God, he wanted to keep looking. 

Steve took him in his hand. With a shaky breath, Jonathan felt his hips try to lift up, his breath coming out in a shaky, needy tremble. He was quivering, and as he shut his eyes, he realised he could feel their hands knocking, the sides of their cocks touching as they tried to synchronise their movements.

'S- Steve- '

'Do- do you have any- '

Jonathan nodded. He knew what Steve was going to say. Reaching over, he smacked his hand over the bedside table, groping about as he managed to jerk the drawer open. Digging around, he found the sticky, almost-empty tube. Uncapping it, he squeezed some out onto his hand and gripped Steve's cock again.

With a moan, Steve pulled their mouths together. Wrapping his arm around him, Jonathan held him close and began to stroke. Opening up his hand, he took them both in his fist as best he could, Steve's hand gripping the base. This had been something Jonathan had often longed to try, had fantasised about in the spare moments he could get in the early morning on a weekend. How it would feel to have another cock against his own, being able to stroke them both at the same time.

Hot. That's what it was, and not just in a sexual sense. Steve was hot. Burning, blisteringly so. Jonathan had learnt that he ran like a furnace in his sleep, but this was something else. Jonathan's fingers caught along the edge of his foreskin, rolling it back as he slid his slick hand down, until he hit Steve's knuckles that wrapped around both of them. Steve moaned in a way Jonathan had only ever dreamt about, tinged with need and desperation as he hitched up closer on his lap, rocking forward on his knees to press against him.

'More, please.'

Jonathan had never heard anything as sweet. Steve groaned the words, right against Jonathan's ear, as he shuddered. Tipping his head to the side, Jonathan tugged at his earlobe with his teeth again, licking the soft skin as he twisted his hand around the two of them. A small keening noise came from Steve as he rocked upwards, his hips moving rhythmic. The bed was creaking, the mattress unused to this. With a bucking, forward movement, Steve surged forward and slammed a hand against the wall the bed was knocking against, his mouth open as he finally came.

Heat was everywhere, from the body against Jonathan's, the cock he held, the come that spilled over. He wanted to see, he did, he wanted to watch, but he couldn't. Eyes shut tight, Jonathan's head fell against the crook of Steve's shoulder. He could smell it, he could feel it, and that was enough. His own orgasm hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, his body curving and curling around Steve. With his nails digging into Steve's firm, strong shoulder, Jonathan shook against him. It ricocheted from his toes to his hairline, his hand stilling as he soared the heights of his release.

The world had stopped turning, Jonathan was sure of it. Everything had been wiped away, and it was just him and Steve and this bed in this cold, draughty room. Gasping, he licked his lips and rubbed his cheek on Steve's shoulder, turning his face to press a kiss to the freckles that were covered in sweat. Steve took a deep breath as he arched his back and finally sagged against the headboard, gazing at Jonathan through his thick lashes.

'It was good,' Jonathan whispered. Then, in case he thought he was only referring to this current moment, 'your essays. I mean it.'

'So was this,' Steve replied with a sly grin.

Well, Jonathan wasn't about to argue about that. With a deep breath, he shut his eyes and let their brows fall together. A hand skimmed along Steve's spine as another smoothed back his hair that lay flat against his neck. There was no hurry to move. They could stay like this as the shadows grew long again in the afternoon, the sweat drying on their skin as they caught their breath and daydreamed about the future that awaited for them outside of Hawkins.


	21. xxi. closing credits

They went to see _Bye Bye Birdie_. Steve rationalised that people would assume he was just there to support Dustin, so it was a safe event for them to attend together. The two boys were playing Fred and Karl, both utterly delighted to have named parts, unlike a lot of freshmen. El was selling programmes before the show started, and she waved excitedly when she saw Steve and Jonathan, before rushing backstage to help with the last minute setup.

They found seats next to Mrs Henderson, who Joyce happily sat next to. They were in the middle of the theatre, and Claudia had been saving them for the small group, despite the glares other attendants had been tossing her. She hugged all three of them, in that warm, over-encompassing way she tended to do. She gushed to Joyce about how proud she was of Dustin (and of Will, too, she added in her always-genuine way). Jonathan could tell his mother was a little overwhelmed by her, but she kept her cool and let her guide the conversation, nodding and murmuring quiet noises of agreement when appropriate. Jonathan and Steve sat together, a handful of seniors who were supporting siblings in the musical turning and murmuring behind their hands that former cock of the walk, Steve Harrington, was in the audience. Nobody came up and spoke to them, though, not even Anneliese, whose sister was playing Doris.

Under the cover of darkness, Steve reached over and rested his fingers on Jonathan's wrist that lay on his thigh. His thumb brushed back and forth, over the bony protrusion and across the tender underside. Turning his hand, careful and slow, as the stage filled with lights and music and large circle skirts, Jonathan slid his arm back and took hold of Steve's hand. Their hands moved off his thigh and into the gap between their seats, fingers entwining together.

Jonathan lived his life with his foot out of the closet. Everyone called him queer, made jabs and jibes in his direction. Although he'd never publicly come out, aside to his family and Nancy, he never refuted the accusations. He'd never seen the point, even before he'd come out to himself. Denying it would only strengthen the resolve of bullies. But Steve was happy to remain far in the back, smiling at girls and letting them believe he was flirting with them, even when he was stealing bites from Jonathan's plate at the diner or passing a smoke back and forth with him out the front of the cinema. 

Nancy walking in on them, even as innocuous as they had been, had never been part of the plan. Steve had fretted for days after, even when it become abundantly clear that she had no interest in divulging their relationship. At times, Jonathan even wondered if Nancy had actually understood that her two ex-boyfriends were dating (a concept that still boggled his own mind), given she had started a relationship of her own that no doubt required her to reassess her own opinion of the world. But she had kept her lips tightly sealed all the same, and though she sometimes needled him for details, it felt more like she was trying to engage him in a conversation about what it was like to be dating another guy, and less that she wanted intimate details of their relationship.

His classmates began to receive acceptance letters to the various colleges they had applied to. Others, less inclined to academic pursuits, talked about jobs they wanted to apply for or vacations they wanted to take. The set of _Bye Bye Birdie_ was removed from the auditorium and the posters ripped, for advertisements for the senior prom began to go up in their place, proclaiming some godawful Happily Ever After theme that made Jonathan gag. Steve's mailbox remained empty and he started to worry, his anxiety that came in waves returning. 

It wasn't until the start of March that he received an envelope from Pace, its logos emblazoning the large letter. Inside were their congratulations and forms he had to fill out. Joyce finally managed to have the dinner she'd been wanting, repeatedly nagging Jonathan about it in her well-meaning way. After, he and Steve drove up the hill, where winter had faded into a moderate spring, and they fucked in the back seat of the Beemer. Steve loved being praised and Jonathan loved hearing the way he'd moan and writhe underneath him, miles of tanned skin making Jonathan's own pale hue stand out.

*

There were things they called each other. Steve gave nicknames freely, not just _Jon_ , but _baby_ , _sweetheart_ , _darling_. He said them easily, when he pulled Jonathan into a hug, his arms curling around his body as he tugged him back against his chest. They were muttered in his sleep on the nights he stayed over, groggy, his tongue thick and mouth dry. Or the words would be littered with breathy sighs and half-choked groans, a hand shoved in Jonathan's hair as he bucked up against him.

Jonathan tried them, but they felt wrong. He put them on like items of expensive clothing, felt the vowels and consonants roll around in his mouth, but they sounded foreign to him. He didn't like how they sounded when they came from him, too sweet and cordial. There were things he wanted to say to Steve that expressed how he felt, how his heart patted in his chest and his limbs would tremble and the excitement shot through him when he realised they were going to go to New York _together_ , but he had no idea how to phrase it.

One afternoon, after losing to Dustin during a game of Monopoly, Steve began to sulk. With a laugh, Jonathan reached over and pulled him in for a one-armed hug. While they had never officially announced their relationship to Dustin, Steve seemed strangely okay with being affectionate with Jonathan around him. Jonathan was fairly certain Will had said something to him by that point, but there was absolutely no fanfare. Dustin was just happy to spend even more time with Steve at the Byers home. It may have even been possible that Claudia knew about the two of them.

As Steve sulked and pouted (and there was definitely a serious undertone to it, Jonathan could tell, even if he denied it), he shook his head. Poking him in the bicep, he screwed his nose up and jokingly called him _princess_ , a nod to the days when Steve had somehow gained the unwanted title of _king_. There was a look in Steve's eye, as though he was unsure how to respond to that, before he went a little red and excused himself.

It stuck. Steve became _princess_ and Jonathan retained the litany of pet names bestowed upon him. If Jonathan uttered it a little more in private, when his nails were biting into tanned skin and Steve wasn't in a position to argue, then that was kept between them.

There was something else he wanted to say to him, though. A handful of words that spun around his mind. He had no idea how to say them, he had no idea of how Steve would take them. Jonathan practised them, at home, in the shower, while doing laundry, as he developed photos in the dark room at school. He came up with times and places, but nothing ever felt good enough. The right moment would occur, and he'd hold out and swallow it, too afraid to wreck what they'd been building together. _Next time_ , he'd tell himself. Always next time.

One afternoon at the start of April, he dropped Steve off outside his house after their usual Saturday film and dinner. It was raining, fat drops that had broken the growing humidity. They were both sweating, Steve's hair a mess of frizzy curls that framed his face, while Jonathan's remained poker straight and stuck to his brow and temples. He wore the lenticular cap to keep his hair off his face and he pulled it off to mop the sweat from his brow. He wanted to get home and shower, already dreaming of the ice cold water he'd down as soon as he entered the door. Setting the cap down on the dash, he gave Steve a sweaty, flushed smile. Steve leant over and kissed him, quickly, at the break in the rain.

'Drive safe. Call me when you get home. I love you. Tell your mom and Will I'll see them next week for dinner.'

Steve was out of the car before Jonathan could digest what he'd said. He ran up the lawn, waving over his shoulder as he did, before the rain came back down again and the great, red doors shut behind him. For several long seconds, Jonathan sat there, staring at the spot that Steve had once occupied, before he found himself lunging out of the car. He ran across the muddy lawn, hating the rain and hating his right shoe for having a hole in it and hating the universe for picking this moment, and, in a way, hating Steve for stealing the moment from him. He took note of Steve's car being the only one in the driveway, pounded on the door, and stood there, subjected to the elements until Steve opened up with a towel wrapped around his shoulders as he dried his hair.

'Hey, what's- '

'Goddamn it, you _asshole_. I love you. I love you, too. You couldn't have chosen a fucking better time to say it?'

'What?'

It took Steve a moment to realise what he'd uttered. Jonathan watched with a secret delight as it dawned on Steve, hitting him suddenly, his eyes growing wide and his cheeks turning red as he clamped a hand over his face. He hadn't meant to say it. It had slipped out, like Jonathan's declaration in the diner that he was gay, and it had escaped into the world before Steve could prepare himself for it.

Everything stilled for half a moment. Then Steve kissed him again. Both hands on his face, holding him in as he peppered him with kisses, repeating it over and over - 'I love you, I love you' - before he pulled back and said quickly that his mother would be home soon.

'I know. I love you. I'll call you when I get home.'

Joyce took note of his smile, his messed hair and drenched clothes when he got home. If she suspected anything untoward than him and Steve sharing goofy declarations of love in a mid-spring storm, then she didn't say anything. But when he fell asleep that night, thankfully dry, he had a smile on his face and a flutter in his stomach.

*

Jonathan didn't want to go to prom. Nancy was nagging him about it, his mother was gently pushing him to go as he had refused to go to any of the middle school dances and the only reason he went to homecoming was to take photos. All seniors on the yearbook committee weren't allowed to work the prom, though, and so Jonathan's usual position as designated photographer had been replaced by some freshman who would probably wind up taking all the photos off-centre with a radial blur. Deep down, Jonathan knew it mostly hurt because he knew he was being replaced, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was leaving high school forever.

Prom was also going to be on the Thursday before their final exams. It was a peculiar day to have it, but he wasn't about to complain. They had the Thursday and Friday off school, as though the school knew they were unlikely to have the entire senior contingent in class on either of those days. Jonathan planned to spend both days studying in anticipation for his final exams. 

Well, he would have, if Nancy hadn't presented him during lunch with two tickets to the prom and insisted he was going. After he pointed out that there was no way in hell Steve would come, she shrugged, took one of the tickets, and said he still had to go. Groaning loudly, dramatically, he shoved the ticket into his wallet and said he'd think about – code for that he wouldn't be going.

It was Steve who finally changed his mind. Jonathan already had his book for the night chosen, had planned his day out carefully and figured out how much he could sleep in and have the optimal amount of study done. When Steve found out over the phone that he wasn't planning on attending his senior prom, he clucked his tongue and immediately drove over with a back seat filled with an array of different coloured shirts.

'I didn't go last year.'

'Go to what?' Jonathan asked as Steve held a pale blue shirt up to his chest, shook his head, and went to find another.

'Prom. Didn't go.'

'Why?'

Jonathan hadn't worked it, having been rostered on at the Hawk and not wanting to turn down the double shift on account of the other projectionist actually going to prom. Picking through the shirts, Steve pulled out a lemon yellow number and, immediately seeing Jonathan's disgusted face, put it down. A black one was next, with a thin, red stripe across the fabric that Jonathan only noticed when he picked up a sleeve.

'Had no one to go with. No one to even sit at a table with.'

'You could have found someone,' Jonathan remarked as he held the shirt up and watched as Steve dug around his dresser for a tie to go with it. Jonathan had accumulated a number of neckties over the years, for reasons he didn't understand. Joyce said it was part of growing up. 'I used to see you talking to loads of people at lunch.'

'Floating around the cafeteria at lunch is different to making a table with a group for prom. Here, I think this one.'

A golden tie, something Jonathan had been forced to wear at a distant relative's wedding, was hung around his neck. This all felt utterly ridiculous, and he still didn't want to go, but it didn't matter. Huffing, he lowered the shirt, hung the tie around the collar and shrugged. He didn't really care what he wore.

'Fine. I'll go. But you're picking me up after.'

Steve nodded, smiled, said it was a deal and kissed the corner of his mouth. Settling on the black, he took the shirt from him and hung it up on his closet door. As a second thought, Steve undid the watch that was wrapped around his wrist and slid it into the front pocket of the jacket, patting it to make sure Jonathan had watched.

'In lieu of a corsage,' he said with a smile.

Jonathan would prefer something of Steve's to wear over a flower any day.

*

Prom was just as terrible as he had anticipated. Nancy had somehow convinced El's sister, Kali, to come along, which did provide some mild entertainment as they lurked at the periphery of the auditorium and watched everyone mill about. They were dating, just as secretly as Jonathan and Steve, but it wasn't as strange to see two girls holding hands and whispering to each other as two guys. Jonathan tried to not let his jealousy be visible. The music was what he'd expected, the type he usually heard on the soundtrack to Brat Pack-and-John Hughes films. The canapes were cold, the drinks too sweet, and the toes to his new shoes pinched. Jonathan just wanted to go home.

But Nancy looked happy. Dressed in a lavender dress with a skirt that looked like it itched, the sleeves as big as her curled hair, she seemed utterly ecstatic to be surrounded by the magic of prom, which Jonathan was sorely missing out on. Kali, quiet and amused, one side of her head shaved and the other dyed a series of unusual colours, was dressed in a suit that was catching more than a few looks. She'd smile at the other attendees when they'd look over, wave her fingers, and then happily go back to sipping the drink she had spiked with whatever she'd smuggled in. Jonathan couldn't quite figure out where she was stowing the flask. Her suit didn't seem to have pockets big enough, and he never saw her reaching into her jacket pocket.

'I'm glad you came,' Nancy said to him, elbowing him.

'I'd rather be dead right now.'

Kali snorted, midway through her drink, and began to hack, spluttering all over the table. As Nancy began to smack her back, helping her clear her airway, she nodded across the room.

'Look, our lunch buddies came.'

The punk kids who often draped themselves on the cars next to Jonathan's were sitting at a table of their own. The majority of them wore some shade of black, though some of the girls had red shawls draped over their shoulders. One of them had been told to remove their studded wrist cuff and was scowling at a teacher. The look she was shooting them was a reflection of just how Jonathan felt.

'Okay, I'm here, can I go now?'

Nancy groaned loudly, her eyes rolling back. Kali slammed her hand on the table, pushed herself up, and took them both by the hand. She seemed a little buzzed, her cheeks flushed as she led them to the dance floor, and Jonathan wondered if she'd been drinking before she came. He twisted the watch around his wrist, trying to imagine what it would be like if Steve had come. They wouldn't be able to dance, he knew that, but he still ached for it. They could sneak out, maybe find an empty classroom to make their own.

As uncomfortable as he was dancing in public, almost as uncomfortable as he was to sing in front of others, as Kali and Nancy dragged him along and spun around him, he found himself falling into it. Everybody around them seemed so involved in their own discussions and jokes that he began to loosen up a little. He found himself laughing, at Kali's slightly tipsy antics, at the way Nancy's skirt flung around as she spun, at his own awkwardness. Eventually, the enjoyment of the evening caught up with him and he lost himself to the music and magic. They went and had photos done, as a group and in pairs. But throughout it all, there was one thing he missed: Steve.

Couples began to breakaway as the night progressed. He watched them as he drifted over to the refreshment area and sipped the punch. Anneliese was working at the drinks and she smiled and waved. Jonathan had begun to get the feeling she had started to suspect something was going on between him and Steve. While no rumours followed Steve around about his sexuality, they did with Jonathan.

As the night dragged on, Kali and Nancy disappeared, just like Kali's hip flask and come and gone through the night. He didn't wonder. Instead, he set his cup down and took his leave outside. The night was cool, the sky clear, and he wondered if he could break into the front office and get his mom to pick him up. The music could be heard from around the side of the building, where the windows were open to let the air circulate. A couple were up against a wall kissing, another had retreated to their car and he could see their shadows in the parking lot lights. Shaking his head, he sighed heavily and made his way to the far side of the building.

The music was coming out louder, another John Hughes-worthy number. Rolling his shoulders, he stretched his arms above his head, feeling Steve's shirt pull across his back and under his arms.

'Not what you were expecting?'

Steve was sitting on the hood of his car, smoking. It looked like he was wearing a suit without a jacket. The bright orange pants looked like something Jonathan faintly remembered from something Prince had once worn. A tie, silver to complement Jonathan's gold, loosely hung around his neck, mostly undone. He had parked under one of the open windows, his foot tapping along to Culture Club or Soft Cell or whoever it was. Beside him was a tumbler with dregs of booze inside; Jonathan could see the whisky ice blocks and he held back a laugh. That had to be deliberate.

'It was exactly as I expected,' Jonathan remarked. He checked the watch. It was only half-nine. 'You said you weren't going to be here until ten.'

'I got bored waiting. Figured I'd hide out here and wait.'

Jonathan looked him over in all his glory. He decided to buy the story, but Steve had actually dressed up. His hair had been done, he'd shaved, and he could smell cologne. There was a jacket draped over the passenger seat. He didn't think that Steve was necessarily trying to recreate a lost opportunity from his high school years, but he was fairly certain that Steve had tried to make up for the fact he couldn't attend Jonathan's prom. That belief was founded when the cigarette was tossed aside and Steve reached behind him and pulled out an orange-petalled boutonniere. Motioning from Jonathan to come closer, he pinned it to the jacket lapel.

'Where's Nancy?'

'Inside somewhere, I guess. I lost her.'

'Huh.'

Sliding off the hood of the car, Steve checked around and finally took Jonathan's hand. Waving his hand, he guided him away from the building and pointed up at the sky.

'Look.'

At first Jonathan wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at. For a terrifying second, he thought it was an opening to the Upside Down, and he wondered why Steve was so damn gleeful about it. A thousand terrifying thoughts ran through his head before his mind caught up and he processed just what he was looking at.

The moon was a deep, blood red. Its position to the horizon distorted its size so it was massive and hanging heavily in the sky. The colour was rich and dark. Head tilting to the side, he tried to figure out what he was looking at. Some natural phenomenon. Will would know. 

It took him a second to realise Steve had let go of his hand. When he turned around, Steve was walking back over; his camera was in his hand. Unzipping it from the case, he handed it over, holding Jonathan's eye the whole while. As Jonathan lifted the strap around his neck, Steve slid in behind him and wrapped his arms around his middle. There were far enough away from the main parking lot that nobody would catch them.

The song coming through the window had changed. With the camera partly raised to his eye, he tilted his head and listened. David Bowie, 'Heroes'. He loved this song.

'Lunar eclipse. Your brother told me. I stopped by your house. Thought you might want to take a few shots.'

Jonathan did. With a deep, contented sigh, he leant back against Steve's chest and began to snap away. The photos wouldn't come out well, he knew that. There wasn't enough light, the red wouldn't translate in black-and-white, but it would be a memory. Lowering the camera, he heard Steve humming behind him in time to the music, his fingers skimming over the buttons of his shirt and nose running across the side of his neck. He likely couldn't smell the humidity in the air, the tobacco from classmates smoking somewhere around the corner, the aftershave Jonathan had worn. 

Turning the camera around in his hands so the lens was pointed at them, he raised it up high. Steve leant in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. A click. Turning his head, he pressed their mouths together. The shutter closed again. The photos would likely be as blurred and off-centre as the shots the freshman was taking inside, but it didn't matter. The memories would be there long after both of them had disappeared from the Hawkins town lines. 

Handing the camera over, Steve helped put it back in the case. It was carried back to the car, where Steve set it down in the back seat. When he headed back over, Jonathan slid an arm around his middle, his eyes fluttering shut as he pressed his lips in a chaste kiss to Steve's cheek.

'I love you.'

'I love you, too.'

There was a soft pause. From the auditorium, the song grew, the crescendo soaring from the open window far above their heads.

'I love this song,' Jonathan admitted.

'D'you wanna dance?'

He did. 

Taking Steve into his arms, he let him lead the way in the few, fumbling steps they both knew. Neither quite knew how to lead nor follow, but somehow, as they stepped on each other's toes, they figured it out. There was enough time for them to learn how it went together.


End file.
